


Gravidity

by Calicy



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calicy/pseuds/Calicy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A difficult pregnancy forces Uhura to spend her maternity leave on New Vulcan with Sarek</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

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The good Dr. McCoy had been with Spock and Uhura from the time they begun toying with the idea of a family to the moment years later, after endless rounds of hormone therapy, extractions, implantations, and a few disheartening failures, when he'd finally been able to look up from their result, proud and with a small tear clinging to the side of his eye, and say "Well, it seems that when it rains, it pours for you two."

From that point on Uhura had practically lived in sickbay. At first it was because she was too nauseous and too tired to leave for very long. Later, when she was less nauseous and less tired, she stayed because she needed too many treatments throughout the day to remain on the bridge for full shifts. Her absence had even inspired the captain and some engineers to arrange a temporary communication station in McCoy's office, to the CMO's chagrin ("Where in the hell am I supposed to go to get away from you people?" he had snapped upon seeing it).

And so, her days for nearly seven months had consisted of McCoy and having him indulge her with the true depths of his hypochondriac tendencies.

"Read this article," he told her one day when they were having lunch, "It's a mutated strand of J6F4, 'Orion flu'. It makes your stomach eat itself."

"Oh," she had said, putting her food away.

It wasn't all horrifying diseases and accidentally learning about the medical histories of her crew mates though. Occasionally, when the biobeds were empty and her earpiece was quiet, they found themselves enjoying each others company. He told her about his youth back on Earth. He had a plethora of tales: he had been a mathlete ("Learned the most useless skills ever there."), a vegetarian for a short while ("I ate grits. That's it."), and had shared a room with Kirk back at the academy ("Did you know he cries during those buddy-buddy dog movies?")

But overwhelmingly, her life consisted of watching McCoy and learning to read him like she would an alien language. The initial syntax, the cantankerous old man annoyed constantly with the children around him, was unappealing. (Unless you had a piece of pie for him, then he was prone to favors.)

The curmudgeon was only the surface though, not a reflection of the phonemes at all really. The only time she had seen him truly furious was after an incident wherein Kirk tried to fight off five Acamarians, singlehandedly. Most of the time, he was merely releasing frustration at the ludicrousness of others. If he really hated them all, he wouldn't have done what he did.

If McCoy was truly and deeply imbued with any trait, it was sincerity. She had watched him worked tirelessly to save helpless crew members, pulling dozens of people back from the brink of death. He would complain constantly about patients who didn't follow his orders but he never gave anything less than his full and complete skill to any given case. He would pour over his medical books if he had any inclining even a cough was the symptom of something more sinister and if there was something he could do for a patient, no matter how arduous or improbable, he would do it.

So she had believed him when he told her, "Pack your bags, darling. I'm ordering the Captain to give you medical leave on Vulcan. I just don't have the technology to assist with this birth. And don't even start to complain. I understand having a career which seems hell bent on destroying your life but damn it, take a break when you can."

"If you want your office back, just say so," she had muttered. Later that night, however, she began making plans. If McCoy said it, it was law, especially now.

 

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By the end of the week, only three days after Dr. McCoy's announcement, they reach an orbit around New Vulcan. As Uhura makes her final preparations in their quarters, there is nothing in Spock's demeanor to suggest he is in distress. He watches her from his desk, moving only to bring her things when she asks. It was only when she is finished, after he puts her largest bag by the door and brings her a coat, that she begins to have an inkling her might be upset.

"That's your jacket," she says with a teasing smile, "I'd steal you away but I don't think you'll fit in my suitcase."

He nods, still somber, letting the hand holding the garment drop slowly. Uhura searches their bond but Spock's mind is intentionally silent.

Uhura reaches for her shoes and struggles with her round midsection. Before she can even sigh in exasperation, Spock is at her feet, unfastening her boots so he can slip them on her feet. Uhura watches him, affection rising high in her chest. He finishes the task and stars at her toes, one hand still gripping her ankle, gently massaging her swollen flesh through the leather.

"Spock?"

His fingers stop their kneading but his eyes do not rise to meet hers. She reaches and gently strokes his hair, "I know, Ashayam. I know."

"I apologize for my inability to be reasonable," he says finally, his voice hoarse, "Your leave on Vulcan is the most optimal option for a healthy delivery and I am fully aware I cannot accompany you at the present moment and yet I find myself compromised at the thought of separation."

"No, no," she whispers, her palm coming to rest on his cheek, her voice low and deceptively calm, "It's alright to be sad. I'll miss you too."

"Then, forgive my behavior," he says. He leans into her palm, still starring intently at the ground, "I understand I am in no way alleviating the stress of the situation for you."

"There is nothing to forgive because there is nothing that is amiss," Uhura replies.

Spock lifts his hand to touch her wrist. Uhura lets the tip of her thumb outline the ridge of his cheekbone, racking her brain for a way to change the subject.

"It has been a while since we've been apart, huh?" Uhura thinks about it for a moment, "The last time you were away from me was almost two years ago. I went on a three week research trip to a Class M planet. I fractured my left tibia."

Spock turns his head to look the very spot which still throbs before it rained back on Earth. She sees his view shift.

"Yes. I was carrying too many scrolls. We found hundreds in this old abandoned temple. That was such a beautiful language. Each letter was like a picture. I took as many as I could carry and then some," Uhura's hand moves, writing in the air, remembering the beautiful scripts. Spock's head rises again to watch at her digits, "I slipped off a path and I couldn't grab anything and I landed feet first."

Spock's eyes darken. Her communicator has been destroyed in the fall. Only her life signal, and the physiological trauma of the accident on her body, had been picked up by the Enterprise. After the incident, her husband had made her a new communicators, this one plated in transparent aluminum, the same material used on the exterior of space ships.

"Then," Uhura continues, "Lydia - Ensign Gomez - she climbed down and carried me to some stable ground and she rubbed my shoulder," Uhura mimics the motion and Spock's eyes rise again to look at her new gesture, "as she hailed the Enterprise and she told me this ridiculous story about a monkey who outsmarted a tiger so I wouldn't think about the pain."

"You suffered from an unstable fracture," Spock murmurs, "You required an internal fixation device. Dr. McCoy preformed a surgery immediately after your return."

"Right," Uhura said, smiling, "You had the conn so Lydia stayed with me the entire time. But you were there when I woke up."

"I left the bridge as soon as was feasible."

"And," Uhura was grinning widely now, "There was that kiss."

Spock's eyebrows quirk. He had been emotionally compromised then too. When he had seen her awakening, when he had seen her smile and heard Dr. McCoy discuss the success of his procedure, Spock had been unable to resist the urge to embrace her.

"Even Dr. McCoy was blown away by it," Uhura laughs, "He let you finish and then he told either you had to not to rile up the patients or get out of his medical bay."

"Dr. McCoy complained to several crew members about my behaviors in the medical bay. Captain Kirk believed his very detailed and repeated recollections of the event in question was an indication of," Spock's lips press together, "enviousness."

"He wouldn't have been the only one who was jealous that day," Uhura whispers, touching her brow. Spock's eyes finally meet hers and she forces a smile she is certain he doesn't believe.

Lydia, who had been three months pregnant, had been kept in medical bay too. Uhura had watched as Christine preformed an 3D scan on Lydia's fetus.

"Good looking guy," McCoy had said, upon seeing the scan and Uhura had agreed quietly, mournfully.

That had been the night. Three days later, she had finally built up the courage to tell Spock. She wanted to try, just one more time, for a child. She had an entire speech prepared but in the end, it had been a rant, the central theme of which had been relatively simple: it wasn't logical but it was what she wanted.

And he had agreed with her, with no argument.

 

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"It'll be nice to have a break to sleep," Uhura says, with all the fake enthusiasm and passion as she could muster, "We wouldn't have much of that soon."

"Yes. Adequate rest will promote optimal maternal health and fetal development."

"And I'll get to see New Vulcan. The embassy library is famous. Maybe I can teach you something about your culture by the time I come back."

"Perhaps."

"It will be nice for Sarek to see his grandchildren too right?"

"I am certain he will enjoy seeing the progeny of his progeny. Vulcan, like Humans are evolutionarily inclined to find satisfaction in seeing their genetic influences passed down through generations."

They have arrived in the transporter room. Scotty is busy with the controls. Upon seeing the transporter warm up, Uhura breaks down a little, reaching to clutch a fistful of Spock's sleeve. She turns to Spock and he is leaning into her. They move in unison, their kiss quick and professional as always but anything but chaste. Spock sighs, leaning his head against hers.

"I'm lying. It's going to be awful without you," Uhura admits, eyes closed. Spock nods and for the first time all day, she feels him in her mind. He is just as torn as she is.

"We must do what we must do, Nyota. This option is the only reasonable course of action."

"It is. I know it is." Yet for some reason, she can't bring herself to release him. His brows furrow.

Finally, she sees his mouth quirk. He looks at her with amused eyes.

"What? What is it?"

"It would seem, our son has just struck one of our daughters in the buttocks. She is not pleased."

She paused, jarred by his sudden mood change, before laughing. He watched her, pride evident in his eyes, before he rested his hand on waist. Uhura wonders if she too will eventually feel the fledgeling bond which has becoming interlaced with that of her and her husbands.

Uhura pressed her fingers to Spock's and spoke to her unborn child, gently teasing her as she would her father "S'ti th'laktra, my daughter. I grieve with thee."

 

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	2. Chapter 2

 

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Uhura’s mother, like most beings blessed with both beauty and intelligence, had always been critical of anyone who lacked confidence and she had always, in a well meaning sort of way, drilled the idea into her children that they should hold their heads high, never feel smaller than another. For the most part, Uhura had never been self-conscious of her appearances, especially while pregnant. It had taken so long and had required so much. How could she possibly be ashamed?

However, this moment would necessitate an amendment to that statement.

It had taken her several days to get to capital. She had been dropped in a small town several miles away because of a sandstorm. Standing before the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth and his entourage, she is sweaty and exhausted but she tries to hid it. She stands as straight as possible, pushes her shoulders back, and holds her head high, chastising herself for being leery at all.  

Yet, as Ambassador Sarek greets her outside the Embassy and inquires about her trip and she politely answers, she feels a dire need to hide herself from the dark critical eyes of the attachés and staff who stand in two organized rows behind her father-in-law. Individually, they would never have fazed her. However, their collective gaze pierces right through her.

Not that Spock’s father makes her feel much better. It was not that she disliked Sarek. It was simply a lack of familiarity. There were very few people in the universe who Uhura could not get along with if she knew them well enough.

The father of her husband was someone she was barely acquainted with. He was not like his son. Sarek, as would be expected of a man who had managed to convince his son for decades that he felt nothing for Spock’s mother, expresses his emotions in an almost incomprehensible manner, one which even Uhura can not read. Spock has assured her otherwise but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Sarek disapproves of her in a irrefutable way and despite the fact that if he had been any other person, she would have told him to go to some netherworld, she wants his acceptance.   

The first time they had formally met, during a shore leave on their first five year mission after Spock and Uhura had become engaged, he had demonstrated only a passing interest in her, more content to hear about his son’s comings and goings. She had asked Spock about this but he had dismissed her. “My father does not interrogate as humans do upon meeting their child’s prospective spouse. As an ambassador, he is more prone to allowing others to volunteer information. It is often more diplomatic than direct inquiry.”

The next time Uhura had seen Sarek had been at their wedding. He had arrived several hours late, an urgent Federation treaty conference having dragged on longer than expected. Sarek had watched Kirk, who spoke before him and who, like most of the guests, was barely able to stand up thanks to the open bar, with a look that conveyed either horror or interest.

Kirk’s toast, which was very illuminating really, ended with a line that went something like, “And because they both have asses that just wouldn’t quit, I think they’re perfect for each other. I hate you both. Try not to do anything that will make him forget all those numbers and fact on your honeymoon, now Uhura.”

Then Kirk had gentled dropped the microphone on the floor and fallen into McCoy’s lap.

When it came time for him to speak, Sarek only offered, with a trace of confusion as if he were unsure if his statements were proper, “I am pleased to see my son happy. Now please touch glasses with your neighboring guests and drink.”

That had made her fume through the first two days of their honeymoon. “He could have been talking about the food!” she bristled as Spock dozed on her chest. She deepened her voice in mockery, ‘It is most pleasing that she didn’t give my son food poisoning. Most ideal.’

“I do believe he misinterpreted the meaning of the gesture in relation to the occasion,” Spock said, raising his head with a look in his eyes that made Uhura shuddering in anticipation, making her forget what her father-in-law’s name was. Spock’s hand snaked a feverish path down her chest, “However, I assure you I am fully aware of what this occasion requires.”

So she had forgotten the slight. Standing in front of the man himself, it comes right back. There is just something about the way Sarek carries himself around her. He does not look her in the eye. He never has.

“You appear fatigued,” Sarek says, “I believe it would be in accordance with good manners to allow you to retire for the evening. Would you find that agreeable?”

“Yes,” Uhura says, suppressing a smile, “That would be acceptable.”

He motions for her to enter. One of the embassy’s staffs hurries up to walk next to her and launches into a speech about the various niceties of the building. It was indeed beautiful, an intricate structure of steel, stone, and glass. The sparse furniture is luxurious but tasteful. An occasional work of art was displayed, here and there, each piece interesting and unique. Uhura nods when appropriate and makes her approval apparent. Emotions might be discouraged but she has yet to encounter a race that would rejects a little flattery.

They finally come to a entryway with Spock’s family name written above the post and the staff and all but one attaché excused themselves. The last attaché wants Sarek’s attention on a piece of legislature and Sarek is indicates he will attend to the matter with the young Vulcan shortly.

“Please make yourself comfortable. I will not return for an evening meal. I will have some proper sustenance brought for you.”  

“Thank you for your hospitality, Ambassador,” she replies. She had thought long and hard about the proper title for him and this is the only reasonable choice.

Sarek’s quarters are small and sparsely furnished, a fact which surprises Uhura. Members of the S'chn T'gai clan are well regard in the Vulcan world, a fact which remains true no matter their home planet, and she would have expected a more lavish arrangement.Yet she cannot bring herself to truly care about this. Her feet and back are crying out for rest and the heat is going straight to her head.

She glances briefly into the nearest room. It contains a desk, a filled bookshelf, a bed and little else but the closet is filled with clothes. Uhura hurriedly pulls back, slightly embarrassed at having seen Sarek’s quarters without his permission.

The other room is less Spartan. There is a balcony with seating. Covering one wall is a painting of an entrancing design. Most importantly, the bed is covered in thick bedding with a light blanket on the end, and more pillows than she would ever have dreamed of. She pushes off the hood she wore to cover her face, necks, and ears and dresses down to her sleeveless tunic and linen pants which taper at her calves. The air on her bared skin, though hot, is heavenly and she lays down with a ecstatic sigh. Within her body, she feels movement and for a second she fears her children will not let her sleep. The moment passes though and it seems the babies only wanted to get settled as well.

She strokes her stomach, wondering what Spock is doing, wishing her were there to rub her back as he would without hesitation if she were back aboard the Enterprise with him. Instead she imagines his gentle touch and she quickly begins to fade into sleep.

Before she falls completely, she notices something on the beside table which rouses her briefly. It is a picture of herself and Spock. How it came to be there, in such a fond and reminiscent place, is intriguing. Amanda had a picture of them, sent by Spock back when he and Uhura were dating at the Academy. However, their faces are older in this visage. Interesting or not, though, even the portrait cannot keep her awake at this point.  

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	3. Chapter Three

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Uhura dreams of her father. He was and is a nice man. When she was a child, he was a full-time oncologist, a part-time watcher of bad soap operas, and an excellent provider but he worked long hours and didn’t see the point of choir concerts and soccer games. It was not out of callousness. He had been raised by a single mother, a woman who woke before dawn to milk cows and only slept after a twelve hour shift at a factory. He simply believed giving his children everything they wanted was a nobler goal than tucking them in every night or seeing them at breakfast.

Still, one day he had woken up, having retired, and wondered why his children weren’t close to him. Once, Uhura’s sister Makena, in a fit of justified rage had told him he was never there for her, for them. Daughters always knew how to break their father’s hearts.

Uhura loved her father but she barely knew him. Being something of an optimist, she imagines the best of him. In this particular dream, she is still afraid of the dark and has slipped into her parents' bed. As the last figments of sleep fade, she is once again waking up, her mother in the kitchen making breakfast, and her father reaching across the bed to gently clutch her arm.

However, in the short stage between wakefulness and dreams, she realizes that she is not on Earth in her parents' bed but on Vulcan and that the warmth behind her back is not normal. This rude fact sends her flailing across her bed, stumbling over the side as the blankets tangle around her legs.

The creature, whose belly she had just been nestled against like a small kitten, watches her through sleepy, half-open eyes, perturbed by her sudden leave but too content to do anything about it. It huffs at her and rolls onto its back, exposing its belly.

Uhura takes deep breathes. It is a sehlat, a beast so gentle Vulcans trust them to care for their children. Spock spoke fondly of his pet, I’Chaya. Still, the sight of its saber teeth and its monstrous form stir something primal in her and she begins to creep towards the door.

There is a knock. Sarek is there, keeping a polite distance, his head tilted down. He looks at the pet in her bed and calls out, “Zorat. Away.”

The sehlat looks at its master through its outstretched legs and seems to sigh. It staggers off the mattress, as if the very action is the most arduous thing it could possibly undertake. It then takes its sweet time, stretching across the floor, pausing as if to see if Sarek has changed his mind about letting it stay in the room before it pads dejectedly through the door and into the main room.

Sarek turns back, his eyes still on the ground, “Please accept my apologies. Zorat is my animal companion. She has made a habit of sleeping in the Embassy courtyard and I was not aware she was in the home.”

“I have taken no issue,” Uhura says, smoothing her knotted hair, wishing he would go so she could make herself presentable. She can smell that she needs a bath.

“She has, I fear, taken on many mannerisms more suitable for a disagreeable feline as I have been unable to train her properly. Please be assured I will rectify her behavior to be more compatible with your needs.”

“There is no need,” Uhura says. “She did not hurt me. I was merely startled. Now that I know she is here, I am certain such an event will not be repeated.”

Sarek’s eyes shift and he watches her legs as she shifts, a second too long, “You have a commendable sense of equipoise.”

“I- Thank you?”

Then Sarek’s eyes are on her unmade bed. Uhura moves often in her sleep and a pillow is on the floor, the bed cover in a ball in the center of the mattress. Uhura reaches around herself to grab her elbow.

“You slept fitfully?”

“I did not sleep poorly. I merely move often while slumbering.”

“Intriguing.”

Uhura can’t think of a single thing which is interesting about her sleep movements but if Sarek can find something interesting about the topic, she is amendable to his musings.

He pauses at the door, “I feel it would be for the benefit of all involved if I were to take familial leave from my duties. Please do not hesitate if you need or anything as I will have the time and energy to assist you in any way you require.”

“You do not have to watch over me,” Uhura says. “I can entertain myself and I am sure you have much more pertinent things to attend to.”

“At the present moment, no. Therefore, I feel assisting you would be a more commendable use of time.”

Uhura opens her mouth and then closes it quickly. There are questions she wishes to ask, information she would like, but the words to voice a proper inquiry are not forming in her mind. She can’t tell if it is nervousness or sleepiness. In the end, she decides it would be rude to deny him without reason so Uhura says, “If you wish to do so, I would welcome the gesture.”

“Then, I have some matters to attend to,” Sarek says, backing away.

Uhura can only nod. It is unnerving to not understand someone else at all.

Before he is gone, Sarek’s eyes fall to the bed stand. Uhura follows his gaze and to see the picture there. This time, without the haze of exhaustion, she recognizes it for the first time.

The picture is seven years old. It was their holiday card, a tradition she had been insistent on creating and quietly discontinued after that year. She had been five months pregnant and visibly happy. Spock’s eyes are without a single trace of their usual discontent, his hand touching her navel.  

His name was to be Suhayl, after the Arabic name for the second brightest star in the sky, Canopus.

They had seen him on scans. He had Spock’s ears and her nose and his cheekbones and her chin. She had dreamed about what he would be like, who he would become, if he would understand her and she him.

Sarek is across the room in an instant, seizing the picture from the table. “I must make some arrangements. I will return shortly.” Then he leaves without even looking at her.

Uhura collapses back on the bed. There are no tears. Just a heightened awareness of the hollow pain which she can usually ignore away.

She looks to the monitor on her wrist which she has worn for months now. Three heartbeats. She looks at the monitor often. She looks for signs of life obsessively and she will continue to do so until she is certain she has finally fulfilled the penance for whatever past, present, or future sin against providence she had committed.

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	4. Chapter 4

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“It is called x’chi ohn itza. It is manufactured on Orion.” Sarek says, watching her take a bite. “Amanda enjoyed it and found it very comparable to chocolate.”

The minute the substance touches her tongue, Uhura realizes something. Either Amanda had an inhuman gag reflex or she lied to her husband.

It takes all of her diplomatic skills not to spit it out. She tries to contort her face into an expression of enjoyment but her face frowns on its own accord and she can tell Sarek sees her hesitation.

“Do you find it unsatisfactory?” he asks. There is something behind his words. He sounds almost hopeful.

“No. It’s good.” She swallows and she swears the stuff sears her throat. “Lady Amanda had good taste.”

She should have kept her mouth shut but her craving had become overwhelming and Nyota knew she couldn’t have real chocolate.

Plus, the apartment had been so quiet. She had hid in her room for most of the day before she built up the courage to try to interact with him. Then when she had tried to start conversations, usually with the most ridiculous of topics, he had been so silent.

She had actually felt pleased. Asking him what his favorite color was or his opinion on the nature versus nurture debate had failed to gain traction but expressing a desire for sweets had finally animated him.

Then this had to go and happen.

Sarek is watching her still. She reaches to wipe her hands on a napkin, even though her fingers are perfectly clean. He glances at the wrapper of leftover “candy” and then back at her. She takes a sip of water, to prolong the inevitable. His gaze is unwavering. She takes a minuscule piece, pretends to smell the faux chocolate, as if appreciating it. She looks at Sarek and their eyes meet for a brief second as she slowly lowers the x’chi ohn itza to her mouth again.

Just before she takes a bite, her monitor beeps. Leonard programed it to remind her to take medicines, hormones, vitamins, and other pills during the day. Right now, she is due for a nutrition pack and a hypo of anti-immunity drugs.

Her face is admirably straight but she throws the x’chi ohn itza down, a tad too enthusiastically. She excuses herself and practically skips to her room.

When she is finished with her treatments, it occurs to her that she should thank Sarek. He deserves that at least, if not for the result, then for the effort.

Back in the main room, Sarek is clearing the table. She arrives just in time to see him throw the x’chi ohn itza away.

When he turns to face her, she swears his eyes are brighter than they were before.

“I have found that humans often give each other a inaccurate depiction of events in order to save one another from negative emotions. I ask that you refrain from doing so with me. I assure you I will be unaffected.”

He is practically smiling at her and it gives her the courage to be honest. “Then I respectfully ask that you take no further measures to procure any more x’chi ohn itza. Please.”

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	5. Chapter 5

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By the time she arrives back at Sarek’s apartment, Uhura has calmed down some but she still can’t resist the urge to slam the front door. Doing so shakes the entire room but it does nothing to quench her anger. In fact, it makes her remember the source of her rage and her frustration surges up again. She hurls her coat at the wall next to the entrance and is growling like a feral cat as she struggles to remove her shoes before she even realizes Sarek is sitting at the table. He sees her looking and quickly shifts his attention back to his papers.

Uhura straightens. Breathing deeply, she sits at the couch, removes her shoes and puts her bag down. She counts to a thousand in Romulan by prime numbers. When her ire has subsided a bit and she is certain of herself, she clears her throat, “Hello Ambassador.”

“Greetings,” Sarek put his readings away and turns to her. “I ascertain that your visit to the medical center was less than pleasurable?”

Uhura nods to avoid answering. She counts to a hundred in Romulan by prime numbers before she speaks. She had plenty of time to think up words to describe her visit and none of them are appropriate. Finally she is able to say, “Dr. Syrel was knowledgeable.”

Sarek nods. “He is the considered the most well-regarded medical professional in the city. I spoke with several acquaintances to ensure he would be able to adequately fulfill your specific needs. He was recommended by many. I was most pleased when he agreed to take you as his patient.”

“Is that a fact?” Uhura’s tone is emotional, despite her attempts to be otherwise. Sarek’s ears twitch and she quickly adds, “I appreciate your attempt.”

“My apologies. You found him,” he pauses, “unskilled?”

Uhura scoffs before she can help herself. She can tell Sarek is trying to understand her frustration. She also knows enough about common Vulcan mannerisms to know she is failing to convey her thoughts properly to him. She shakes her head. “No. He knew what he was doing.”

She doesn’t want to tell him. She doesn’t want him to know about how Dr. Syrel refused to call her by Spock’s clan name. She was adopted in the clan and has every right to the name. He deliberately ignored her claim, which he must have known by nature of her father-in-law. She doesn’t want him to know about how Dr. Syrel brought in an assistant and spoke only to the assistant as if Uhura weren’t there. “She needs this test,” Dr. Syrel had said, “Please take her blood.” She especially doesn’t want him to know about Dr. Syrel’s comments on her medical history. “Two previous attempts at natural conception. That is ill-advised.” She had nearly bitten through her tongue at that. Her first pregnancy had been a brief, unplanned, and unsuccessful anomaly. The second longer pregnancy had been well monitored and its failure, unforeseeable by all accounts. His assumptions were wrong but she had thought of Sarek and she had held her tongue. Sarek and his clan had a reputation to uphold and Nyota Uhura will not be the source of any event or statement that will tarnish his image if she can help it.

Sarek blinks. “Then you found him disagreeable?”

Not exactly. She was very capable of dealing with all types of people. Rudeness was not too much for her. She would have to put up with Syrel for her children’s sake. Then Dr. Syrel had reviewed her previous treatments, telling his assistant things of note. When he had reached the section of her record on Dr. McCoy, he had bristled at the Terran name and immediately called for several basic blood tests, and ordered nutrition packs common for multiple pregnancies along with immunity suppressors to avoid spontaneous rejection, and a copper filtration device for her blood. All of which Uhura had either already received or was already in possession of.

There are so many ways to answer in the affirmative to Sarek’s statement but Uhura simply says, “He was unprofessional.”

“Could you please elaborate? The more information I have on his skills and manners, the better able I will be to pass on commentary on his abilities.”

Now Uhura is completely at a loss for words. She had been plotting her escape after what Dr. Syrel had dared to say about McCoy’s competency. Then she had heard him, muttering in Vulcan as if he actually thought she wouldn’t understand (!), “I believe the S'chn T'gai men should take up prophesying. Such would be much more reasonable than their incessant attempts at impregnating human women.”

Uhura had seen red. She isn’t even entirely sure what she had said after that. All she can remember is that she slammed Dr. Syrel’s door too and that she was wrong: she can’t curse in thirty-eight languages, she can curse in forty-six.

She also knows she will need a new doctor.

She ponders lying to Sarek. However, Uhura has never been one to deny herself righteous anger nor does she think it would serve Sarek to lie. Besides, there is no comparable phrase which conveys the same message politely and accurately.

So, without thinking, she lets her frustration do the talking and she blurts out the truth, “He’s an asshole.”

She waits for Sarek’s response. He is, surprisingly, silent. Perhaps she had expected disagreement or some chastisement. Instead he is blank and unresponsive.

“I’m sorry. I meant to say. . .” her voice drifts off. She meant what she said. There is nothing better which she can say to convey her true feelings. Embarrassment burns her cheeks. She studies the design on her bag, adds sheepishly, “You are aware of what that phrase means, correct?”

“I am acquainted with the connotation of that term, especially in that particular syntax.”

Of course he knows about such things. Uhura opens her mouth then closes it. There is nothing she can say. She will not apologize. Still, she had put Sarek in an awkward position and she should make things right. Yet in spite of herself, she has no idea how to do so. She thinks, desperately, ‘Please don’t be ashamed of me.’

“My choice of words was unfortunate.” She says finally, “Dr. Syrel’s personality and perspectives were entirely incompatible with mine and I feel strongly that it would better serve all involved for me to be attended to by another medical professional. If that would be possible.”

“There is no need to apologize. Such behavior is inexcusable,” Sarek says. “I will speak with my acquaintances at the Vulcan Science Academy and the Embassy staff. I will find you another physician, one less inclined to such backwards ways of thinking.”

Sarek rises from his chair and makes his way towards the communicator. Uhura goes to her room, closing the door. She leans against the door frame, a familiar feeling rushing through her.

The language Uhura had the most difficulty learning was Axanar. The pronunciation had been incompatible with her natural abilities and human vocal system but she’d persisted. It had taken her months of practice and researching techniques before she could properly pronounce a word which the computer she practiced with could recognize.

Yet this moment, when she feels a spark of mutual understanding with Sarek, is a moment almost as satisfying. She knows the right words, words which are really just her own, uncomplicated and natural, and he comprehends their meaning perfectly.  

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	6. Chapter 6

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VI

  
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Every night, when she is certain they are between shifts on their recreation time, Nyota goes to the long-range communication center in the Embassy and has a nice long call with the crew of the Enterprise. Kirk is first, every time. Mostly he wants to gossip and complain about her husband but occasionally he makes a long and practiced speech about how beautiful a name ‘James’ is.

“Why are you telling me this?” She always responds, knowing exactly why he was telling her.

“No reason.”

Second, every time, is McCoy. He starts every conversation not with a greeting, but by demanding to know about how her treatments are going, asking point-blank about embarrassing potential side-effects, or drilling her about her medicines to see if she’s compliant. Finally, with a snappy, “Your damn husband is giving me grey hair faster than Jim,” he turns the communicator over to someone else.

Then Chekov usually comes by. He likes to ask her about her day or tell her stories about what she is missing back on the ship.  They speak in Russian. She learned it just for him.“I miss you very much, Miss Uhura. When you get back ve vill have tea and cake, yes? Like we used to?”

“How about vodka instead?”

He laughs. “It vas invented in Russia!”

Next would be either Christine or Carol, or both if they were free. It was stress relief for all parties. Uhura could complain about anything from her need for a comprehensive manual on the semantics of the Iconian family of languages (a necessity really given her desire to keep her skills sharp) to being kept awake by tiny feet. Her girl friends from the Enterprise were welcome to do the same.

“And he wouldn’t stop, Uhura! He just keeps going on and on about this virus which makes your stomach eat itself and I wanted to scream, ‘Dr. McCoy! That’s enough! There is no chance you could have it!’ But you know, politics, he’s my supervisor, respect his eccentricities. . .”

“They really thought you could disengage a proton carburetor without a traducer, Uhura! Then I just have to smile and not ask what high school they dropped out of and - you know?”

Following the girls, would be Sulu, who usually talks about his plants or complains about her husband, or Scotty who usually had a tasteless joke he knew she would enjoy, or random crew members she was acquainted with who wanted to hear how she was doing.

Finally, Spock. He was usually quiet, answering questions but not readily offering information about his own activities. He always wanted to hear about her. Were the babies healthy? How was she doing? Was she comfortable? Did she get that mango she had craved that week? Had she received the list of names he had found desirable and what did she think of them? Each inquiry, as genuine and caring as he was, made her heart ache. At the end of the call, he would tell her the exact amount of time, down to the second, that remained between then and the moment he would arrive on New Vulcan for the birth. She, in turn, would press two fingers to the screen and pretend she could feel his skin on hers when he responded in kind to the gesture.

 

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Several weeks after arriving on New Vulcan, Nyota is surprised to find Lieutenant Hawkins, a man she was not friendly with, on the other side of the communicator. Her fellow communication officer was fumbling over the controls and was horrified when he saw her on the screen. There was something off about the lighting on his face and his body position. She knew immediately what it was but kept it to herself until she realized it had to be true. The screen could be moved around after all.  

“Hawkins,” Uhura says, trying her best not to sound condescending. “Are you underneath a table?”

Hawkins recoils as if offended, the false grin he had plastered on his face unwavering. “Uhura. What possible reason could I have for - ”

Before he could even finish the sentence, the communicator screen shook on Hawkins’ end. A shadow fell across Hawkins’ face and she heard someone yelling in Ferengi for him to stand before several dark skinned hands seized the communication officer away, knocking the communicator over.

From the new vantage point, she could see Chekov and Sulu, who was carrying his fencing sword, hiding nearby, waiting for the right moment to act. Seeing her face, Chekov pulled the communicator over.

“This one got away from us Uhura,” Sulu says, pushing Chekov behind him as the Ferengi captain corners them. “That idiot Hawkins has no sense for Ferengi pragmatics.”

Sarek is in the communication center as well, reviewing a land contract with an Cardassian delegate. When he hears the commotion at her station, he looks over.

It turns out the Enterprise found the Ferengi ship in a neutral zone, out of fuel. The Ferengis had agreed to an inspection, in order to rule out any illicit activity, in exchange for assistance.

Hawkins, however, was not aware that the Ferengi term for “cargo hold” was only one syllable different from the Ferengi term for a person whose parents were unmarried at the time of their birth, an insult for their species as it was for humans.

Thus, as he, the Captain, and a few others had returned from their inspection, he had in essence told the Ferengi Commander that he had seen all the bastards and the inspection was uneventful. The Ferengi Commander, whose family had their quarters near the cargo holds, had declared a vendetta on the spot.  

It takes several hours. There is a hefty bribe, one which will probably lead to Starfleet withholding all of their yearly bonus for a few decades. Then Uhura has to mediate a discussion between Kirk and his temporary communication officer. Needless to say, Kirk has a few hundred choice words for Hawkins, and when they untied him and get him his clothes back, the Captain indulges himself and begins cursing everything from the circumstances of the communication officer’s birth to his ears.

But Uhura, several lightyears away, is manages to return the Enterprise to it’s crew.  

Uhura says her goodbyes and hangs up, too pleased that she was still skilled enough for her work to keep it to herself. Her eyes find Sarek’s and she is certain there is a minute but discernible approval in his eyes.

 

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	7. Chapter 7

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Normally, Uhura would have mingled, especially at an event with so many different beings to interact with. Tonight, however, she is more content to sit and watch. There is plenty to see: beautiful dress costumes, interesting faces, odd interactions. She listens too. It is good practice.

She also looks for Sarek now and again. He had been insistent that she attend with him and she had required little persuasion. He moves easily through the crowd, tall and graceful, glancing occasionally at her. He does not wander too far away and she can hear bits and pieces of what he says. He has an admirable talent for being direct but polite.

“May I sit with you?”

Uhura looks up. She knows this woman; this is Ambassador Aris of Betazed, a renown peacekeeper and negotiator and also a female who is presently in a similar situation to her own: pregnant and tired.

“Of course,” Uhura smiles and shifts over to make space for Ambassador Aris on the couch. The Ambassador sits quite close to her but for some reason, Uhura can’t bring herself to mind.

“You are Lieutenant Uhura, yes? From Starfleet? Sarek’s daughter. He must have brought you to show you off.”

“I am his son’s wife.”

“His daughter,” Ambassador Aris replies, chuckling.“Vulcans and Betazoids don’t discriminate family based on how they came to be relations.”

“Is that a fact?”

“It is.”

Uhura wonders about that. It was probably a fact with regard to non-mixed marriages, but was it true for her circumstances? She never had had an inclining Sarek disliked her for being human, just for being married to his son, in general. That he had loved Amanda has no weight on his feelings towards Uhura. She had nothing to compare to and yet. . .

“I suppose I am,” Uhura says.

Ambassador Aris asks her briefly about her visit on New Vulcan. Then the Betazoid launches into a long monologue about the reason she is on New Vulcan: environmental presentations on recent mining efforts. Such talk would normally bore Uhura to tears. However, the same topic also bored Ambassador Aris to tears and her recollection of the events is so dry and humorous that Uhura could listen to her for hours.

Finally, Ambassador Aris calms down some, her rant over, and asks “Forgive me if I am wrong but you are with child, right?”

“Yes,” Uhura replies.

“Good!” Ambassador Aris says, happily.“I was with a expecting Grazerite delegate some time ago who was furious with me because I didn’t let her go through the Embassy threshold first. It turns out that’s quite a tradition for them, letting pregnant women enter rooms and such first, which I knew, but I wasn’t certain. I always try to make sure now. Though, honestly, asking can be even more trouble, especially when they aren’t. Don’t try, just believe me.”

“Alright.” Uhura laughs.

“This one will be my fourth. Thrice I prayed for a girl and each time I was given a son more rowdy than the last and a greater lesson in patience.” Ambassador Aris continues without taking a breath, “However it seems whatever higher power may be only grants us what we need the most rather than what we want. And truthfully, my sons have only made me better. Still, I hope this one - it’s a girl finally - she will be easier, if only as a relief for her tired mother. Though between you and me, if my inkling and her love of kicking my internal organs are any indication, she will be just as rebellious as her father."

Her dark eyes are so warm and Uhura feels a deep comfort being around her. She wonders vaguely if she is being telepathically manipulated or if Aris is truly this pleasant.

“My mother felt the same way about my little sister,” Uhura says. “The poor woman just wanted one easy child and she thought after my brother and I, the Universe would grant her reprieve. I’m afraid Makena never quite delivered on that promise though. She’s the most adventerous of us all.”

Ambassador Aris makes a face, “I was the same as your Makena. It’s only fair I get my daughter just like me, really. How about you? What are you having?”

“Two girls and a boy.” Saying that still makes a cold thread of panic run down her spine but Uhura is pleasantly surprised to find the sensation is diminished compared to past experiences. “They will outnumber my husband and I and quite frankly, I’m terrified.”

Ambassador Aris chuckles. “A reasonable sentiment. You know, I have traveled the universe and I have never met a woman pregnant with triplets. I’ve read about them. Seen them in pictures. Never met one. Isn’t that strange? What are the chances of that?” Ambassador Aris looks at Uhura, then she becomes surprisingly shy as she reaches out her hand, “May I?”

She has allowed few others to touch her stomach. Spock, of course, and McCoy as well. Jim, once too, to get him to settle down and distract him from the hypo Chapel had aimed at his neck. But Uhura lets Ambassador Aris. The Ambassador’s touch is warm and brief. She smiles so genuinely that the doubt Uhura has fades. The ambassador is indeed so pleasant.

“Precious,” Ambassador Aris says, removing her hand. “I’m sure you are a great comfort to your father, especially now. How is Sarek? He has been having a difficult time. This must be a welcome break.”

“What do you mean?” Uhura scans the crowd and Sarek is nowhere to be found, “Why would I be a greater comfort now than another time?”

“First, of course, the news of his heart condition and now his new Romulan treaty is failing to gain traction.”

Uhura’s throat tightened, “I’m sorry. I don’t know to what you are referring to. What heart condition? What treaty?”

Ambassador Aris’ gaze shifts away. She sits upright, “Hello Ambassador Sarek.”

Uhura turns, chirping like a parrot to cover her surprise, “Hello Ambassador Sarek. How are the night’s events treating you?”

“I am finding tonight to be a trying experience,” Sarek says and Uhura notes he looks somewhat haggard.

“Have you found any new supporter for your treaty?” Ambassador Aris turns to Uhura, “Have you heard about his idea? There has been a shift within the Romulan political agenda. They are becoming hostile. Ambassador Sarek has a proactive plan to prevent a war. He wants to form an alliance with the Klingon Empire, to pressure the Romulans into submission without shedding a single drop of blood.” Ambassador Aris beams at Sarek, “Very brilliant. I can only hope it comes to fruition.”

Uhura looks at the ground. Dealing with Romulans must be difficult for Sarek. That he would be willing to do so peacefully, adds another layer to the respect she has had and is growing esteem she had come to had for him.

“An unlikely happening,” Sarak says, “if this night’s talk is an indication of success or failure.”

“What happened?” Uhura asks.

“I spoke with several Federation delegates. They were all skeptical and felt strongly that my plans to negotiate an alliance with the Klingon Empire was an violative and poor reaction to the situation, influenced by biases and misconceptions.”

Ambassador Aris clicks her tongue. “That is unfortunate.”

“Perhaps it was. From what I was told, I am misinterpreting the current political trends in the Romulan empire. The other delegates are certain recent events are the result of temporary upheaval related to power shifts which are hardly relevant to Federation operations. Such an aggressive treaty, like the one I am proposing, would endanger delicate relations unnecessarily.”

“Are they serious?” Uhura snaps. Ambassador Aris and Sarek both look surprised at her outburst and Uhura almost reaches to cover her mouth. However, Sarek motions for her to continue and she does.

“The Romulans have been becoming increasingly violent in the past two years alone. Just a few months ago, a drone ship was found on the border of the neutral zone. The federation ship which discovered it was never heard from again following the finding.”

“I am aware of that incident,” Sarek says. “However-”

“They will never resort to open war, Ambassadors. They rarely do. That is not their way. They will simply continue these covert activities, killing hundreds, perhaps thousands. Even one lost innocent life is what is truly unnecessary.” Uhura says, before recoiling, “I’m sorry Ambassador Sarek. I interrupted you.”

Sarek is watching her and when Uhura apologizes to him, she realizes for the first time, he is looking her in the eye, his gaze unwavering.

Ambassador Aris is looking at her too, with a look of pride in her eye. “Well said Lieutenant,” the Betazed struggles to her feet, clutching Uhura’s shoulder for support, “I agree. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I would very much enjoy helping your cause, Ambassador Sarek. I will speak on your behalf to my superiors.”

“Send me pictures of your little ones yes?” Ambassador Aris says to Uhura. “And I will send pictures of little Ara when she arrives.”

“Of course.”

The Betazoid bends to kiss Uhura on the cheek, whispering in her ear, “That man adores you and your husband. He’s told me. Don’t believe anything otherwise.” Then Ambassador Aris glances at Sarek, “You were wrong. She’s not much like your Amanda this one.”

Sarek doesn’t respond. Uhura looks at the ground, flushing at the comparison.

When Ambassador Aris is gone, Sarek takes her seat, keeping a much more conservative distance from Uhura, “I was attending to my duties. I hope that did not make you discontent.”

“Is that not what an Ambassador does at an embassy party?” Uhura asks.

“I must clarify. Amanda used to bemoan the fact that I was usually forced to neglected her at such functions. I understand there is awkwardness involved when one is in a room with only strangers and has no official duties to occupy themselves.”

“I have the Ambassador to keep me company. It was very enjoyable listening to her,” Uhura replies.

“She is an excellent representative, a testament to the intellect and compassion of her planet,” Sarek says. “I am pleased she supports my treaty.”

“It is an excellent idea. I offer my support as well, for what it’s worth.”

“Given your skills with delegation, it is a meaningful comment.” He leans towards her, as if to tell her a secret, “In truth, her support has been more invaluable than she will ever realize. Several treaties I submitted for review have been rejected. I was beginning to wonder if my vitality as an ambassador was finished. Ambassador Aris’ companionship in the past few months has been incredibly motivating.”

“My mother always said we should believe in ourselves first but I have found belief from others is quite potent as well.” Then, before she can stop herself, Uhura yawns enormously.

“You are fatigued?”

She shakes her head, “No. No. No.”

“We can depart if you wish.”

It is not late in the night. The young, sexy girl inside her rebels against the idea. Back when she was Gaila’s roommate and 23, she could stay up all night, ace her exams, and still have the will, energy, and drive, to accomplish everything she desired to accomplish. However, now that she is Spock’s wife and the expectant mother of his children and . . . not 23, she will take any excuse to rest she can find.

Sarek helps her to her feet. Movement in general is strenuous now. She wouldn’t be able to walk soon.

They walk in silence back to their quarters. The Embassy is usually abuzz no matter the hour, but the majority of the staff and ambassadors are currently at the event. The only people they pass are guards and a Terran ambassador’s son who has had too much to drink.

In their living room, just after she bids him good night, he stops her, “Lieutenant Uhura -”

“You can call me Nyota, if you wish.”

“Nyota,” he says, testing the word, nodding, “As I am certain you are aware, Vulcan auditory senses are vastly superior to those of humans. I overheard you this evening and I am hopeful, you will overlook the unintentional faux pas.”

Uhura smiled at him, “Of course.”

Sarek inhaled, his back rigid. “Would it be a further faux pas to ask for clarification on one of your statements?”

Uhura racks her brain. She doesn’t remember saying anything terrible that night, nothing she wouldn’t have wanted Sarek to hear. “Just this once, no. What statement piqued your curiosity?”

“You mentioned you feared being outnumbered by your children? I understand two adults will be less than advantaged when tasked with caring for three children but you spoke as if you were referring to a tactical impediment.”

“I’m not afraid of being outnumbered per se,” Uhura shakes her head, smiling. “My anxiety comes from the unknown. I’ve have never raised a child before and I’m an afraid that I - ” Uhura bits on her lip. “I’m afraid I will be insufficient for the task.”

In the depths of her mind, she has an additional thought, one so well hidden even Spock has not experienced it. The thought, born from past failures, forces itself into her conscious mind. It is a single line, reverberating, each repetition louder than the last. ‘I have been insufficient as a mother before.’

Something moist touches her hand, interrupting her thoughts. It is Zorat. The sehlat had resisted all of Sarek’s attempts at training and sleeps in the apartment now. Uhura strokes her large head.

Uhura speaks, if only for some silence in her head. “Since I have given you information you should not have been privy to, will you extend the same privelege to me?”

Sarek appears cautious. He must know what her question will be, yet he still asks, “What was you inquiry regarding?”

“Does your son know you are sick?”

Sarek looks at a spot above her head. “No. Few know about my condition. Ambassador Aris is only aware of because she provided me with assistance when I had an episode at a prior conference. I have taken measures and am in better health now.”

“You have to tell him,” Uhura says, firmly, “Or I will be forced to.”

Sarek sighs, “I did not wish to cause him distress. I was misguided. He will be informed.”

“Is there anything else ailing you presently?” Uhura reaches behind herself to clutch her elbow, willing herself to ask what she really wants to know. Zorat, annoyed at her misplaced attention, flops to the ground at Uhura’s feet and paws her ankles. “What did Ambassador Aris mean by her final comment?”

Sarek doesn’t answer her and Uhura elaborates, “Do you often compare me to Amanda?” Her tone is both teasing and slightly desperate.

“Yes,” he says. “I often find myself recognizing myself and my former bond-mate in the relationship you share with your husband and my son.”

Uhura remembers her first day with Sarek, the strange statements he made after entering her room to expel Zorat. “Lady Amanda was clumsy, wasn’t she?”

“She was. You are not,” Sarek’s face is as impassive as that of a statue. Zorat rolls onto her feet and presses her body against her owners leg. Sarek lets her sniff his fingers.

“And she slept peacefully? No pillows kicked across the room, no tangled sheets?”

“Yes. Sometimes, I wondered if she was even there. Sometimes, although it is completely unreasonable, I still wonder.”

“And she was really a fan of x’chi ohn itza?”

Sarek’s mouth twitches. “She was. She also would never have spoken as forcefully to me as you did earlier. She would have been firm but softer spoken,” Sarek is staring at a spot above her shoulder, his eyes unreadable.“Tonight, when I heard you speak, I realized that your eyes are not as similar to hers as I previously thought and I understood for the first time you were two very different individuals, deserving of different regard.”

Uhura touches his arm, his thick sleeve preventing an unwanted telepathic bond. Sarek looks at her hand but does not tense or move away.

“Forgive me if my comparison has skewed my behavior towards you in a manner you perceive as negative. Such an occurrence was unconscious. Please believe me when I assure you that I consider you with the utmost and most positive of thoughts.”

Uhura does not hesitate.“There is nothing to forgive.”

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	8. Chapter 8

 

 

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Sleep gradually became impossible.

It's a confluence of factors: she's achy; she's constantly up to use the bathroom; she simply can't drift off even when she's laying down. But really, it's because the weather on New Vulcan currently feels akin to being inside an oven.

The heat was nice at first. The warmth blanketing her skin at night had reminded her of sleeping in her backyard with her brother and sister when they were children. Now that she's heavier and the nights are hellishly hot, it's just unpleasant.

One particularly trying night, after starring at the ceiling for hours, she falls into a doze, awakening a few minutes later to find the fan Sarek gave her is broken again. She tries to fix in, but in her exhausted stupor she somehow manages to pull the motor out. It's not a loss. The thing barely worked to begin with. Still, she makes a note to repair it when she can think clearly. It probably belonged to Amanda.

Tonight is a poor night to be kept away with her thoughts. Uhura sighs, rubbing the spot on her chest which has been aching all night. Her copper suppressors often give her heartburn but never this awful. She pulls her hair up to fan her neck, "What do you think the boiling point of blood is, Zorat? Probably about five degrees hotter, yeah?"

The sehlat, whom she pushed out of bed earlier to relieve herself of the added body heat, seems to glare at her from it's place in the corner on a stolen pillow.

"You know, I have discovered a lot about myself since being here," Uhura continues, "For example, my body doesn't enjoy being baked. Interesting, right?"

Zorat ignores her, sniffing some water in her bowl.

"Can you keep a secret, Zorat?"

The sehlat grumbles. Uhura takes that as an affirmative.

"It's not just the heat that's bothering me. I hate being pregnant. You never know what will happen. And something always happens to me."

This is pretty low, she thinks. Talking to an animal about her problems. It will be somewhat cathartic, of course. But an animal can't talk back, and Zorat can't really help. Screw it, she needs to get it off her chest. Maybe it will even help her sleep.

"Can I be upfront with you Zorat," Uhura sits down next to the sehlat. "Today is a bad anniversary but you can't tell anyone, alright?"

Thankfully no one but McCoy remembered. If they had, no one mentioned it earlier when she made her usual evening call to the ship. Kirk had told her about this horrible idea he had for a surprise baby shower for Spock. Her husband had described the results of some of his most recent experiments. Chekov and Sulu had shown her some pretty pictures they had taken of some planets.

Then McCoy, uncharacteristically last. "Well, hon. Do you want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head without thinking.

He had given her a half grin. "Fine. Is your nose always that color? Have I told you about Caitian amoebic aphasia?"

But she did wanted to talk about it. She really did. If he had pressed her even slightly, she would have told him everything. But he didn't. So, she listened to him redirect his worry by fussing and listing off the symptoms of a disease she couldn't possibly have (unless she was decidedly more feline that she previously assumed). Then she mentioned a present she thought would make Spock's surprise party more palatable for him and hung up.

Now, hours later, she can't keep it in.

"Sorry, I didn't want to cuddle earlier," Uhura settles against Zorat's belly, rubbing behind its ear. The sehlat is still pointedly avoiding her gaze.

Actually, this would probably be very similar to talking about her problems with Len. He was a good man, a fine doctor but it was probably for the best that he hadn't chosen to become a psychiatrist.

"Most people don't know this but before the triplets, I almost had two other babies. There was Suhayl seven years ago and then ten years ago . . ." Uhura stops, clears her throat and glares at the wall. Perhaps it was best she hadn't brought this up. She can barely tell a sehlat.

Once upon a time, she began painting her nails to curb her bad habit of chewing on her cuticles. She stopped when she became pregnant because she was afraid of the chemicals. Now, she chews on her nail again like she did as a child. It calms her enough so that she can continue.

"It was the second year of our first five year mission. I was still pretty green as a Starfleet officer. I knew it was dangerous out there. I had the scars to prove it. But I never really grasped the fact that," Uhura stops rubbing Zorat for a second, "you know, I could die."

"His name was General I'sh'tae," Uhura remembers, "He was charged with protecting a refugee camp. Starfleet had ordered us to check on him after there had been reports of abuse of power. It was Kirk, Spock, three red shirts, and I in the landing party. The general himself greeted us, gave us a tour, invited us to a dinner. He seemed so hard working and decent, normal. The real psychopaths always do."

"The general and his men gave us this awful beer. We had to drink it. We had to be polite. While the others were talking, the general mentioned a library. I loved books. Another red shirt wanted to go too. It was beautiful, thousand upon thousands of great works of literature from across the galaxies and artifacts the likes of which I had never seen before in this massive space. I got so caught up in admiring everything, I didn't even hear the red shirt being suffocated across the room. I just felt the general come up behind me and say, "You can't fool me. I know who you are."

Zorat touches her nose to Uhura's knee. The sensation feel strange, like something distant and foreign. Her mind is thousands of miles away, on another planet, in a dark cell.

"He knocked me out and when I woke up," Uhura's hands are shaking. She turns and buries her head in Zorat's neck, inhaling deeply. The pain in her chest is almost unbearable now. She is on New Vulcan. She is in her father-in-law's home. The sehlat, the guest bedroom, the heat is real. Her thoughts are just vivid memories.

"He tortured me Zorat. He thought I was a spy or an assassin, I can't even remember," Uhura forces her eyes to stay open. Every time she blinks, she can see the instruments, "The beer had been drugged. It took Kirk and Spock hours to found me. Spock arrived first. He was . . . enraged."

It was the only time she had ever been truly afraid of him.

"By the time they got me back to the ship, I was going into shock. The last thing I remember was McCoy telling me "Not today little girl. I'm gonna watch you become a sweet old grandma and you're gonna see me become a geezer who turns the sprinklers on when visitors come around."

Zorat licks her arm and Uhura tries to smile at the pet. She is still shaking so she hugs the sehlat's neck again. The beast puts a paw on her back and Uhura revels in the softness of its fur.

"I had to be put into a medically induced coma. When I woke up, Kirk and Spock were gone. They had been court-martialed for "excessive violence resulting the death of the Federation ally General I'sh'tae". And McCoy sat with me for hours as I was waking up, holding my hand, begging me to forgive him and I couldn't for the life of me understand why. I was alive. I was going to recover."

This is the part which haunts her. Not the weeks spent in sickbay, not the dreams which followed, not the fear which had seeped into her every waking moment. Just remembering makes her sick.

"McCoy asked me why I hadn't told him. He said I should have been on hormone and vitamins and I still didn't understand. Then he leaned his forehead against me and said, 'I'm sorry I couldn't save your little girl.' I hadn't even realized I was pregnant."

She had felt guilt before and since but never like that. If she had known, she never would have followed a strange man away from safety. She would have carried a second phaser, one hidden away, to protect herself. She would have been more cautious going on an away mission. She can easily list a thousand things she could have and would have done differently and it doesn't matter at all because she was too foolish to notice in time.

"There hasn't been much absolution since. I had a psychiatrist. It didn't help in the end. Not many people know and I want to keep it that way. I don't want to talk to Kirk about it, McCoy wouldn't talk about it, and it would destroy Spock to know what it's been doing to me for all these years."

"We supported each other before, of course," Uhura says, "Years ago but never since. Spock handled it and it was so difficult for him. I just can't reconcile burdening with him with it again because I still can't deal with it."

"Most of the time I'm happy no one talk to me about it though. A few years later, after Suhayl, I thought I would die from all the pity and sadness from others."

Uhura pulls away from Zorat. She takes a few deep breaths.

"You want a happy story now? A few weeks later, I woke up one morning and found Spock in the living room, finally back from San Francisco. He had cleaned up, fixed me breakfast and when I came in, he was sewing of all things. I had missed him so much. I practically stabbed myself on his needle, I jumped in his lap so fast. He held me so tightly and I felt his thoughts and I knew Dr. McCoy had told him everything that had happened. "What do you need?" He asked me. I knew what I needed. And, I swear this is true, I asked him to marry me. All smelly and and bloated from my medicine with my hair a mess because I had been in bed for weeks. He didn't respond though. He put me back to bed. He told me to ask again when I was more lucid and not under the influence of drugs. Romantic, huh?"

Uhura glances at Zorat and the sehlat glances back. Uhura moves close, as if confiding in a friend, "And I did ask again. Because he was such a good catch, I could tell even if I was barely conscious and under the influence of half a dozen painkillers, and I knew I would want him forever. You can guess the rest."

That is what she wants to remember. The day she became Spock's. Maybe she would remind Spock about it. That's how it is. She wants Spock to be happy. She doesn't want to bring up the terrible memories, the painfully memories, even if they tear her apart.

This will pass anyway, probably. She felt anxious months ago as she was progressing through the same stages as her first miscarriage. It is just the idea of her upcoming birth that is making her scared. That was when she lost Suhayl. The date and the familiar circumstances are just bothering her. It will pass.

Uhura tries to take a few more deep breaths but her chest, which has been tightening exponentially, is making even light breathing difficult. She touch the skin over her ribcage, just above where the pain is.

That is when she notices her monitor.

She grabs a robe and rushes into the living room. She bangs on Sarek's door and he answers quickly. "You are in distress," he states, plainly.

"Not me. I need to go to the medical center," she replies without ceremony. She shows him the monitor on her wrist, where a warning signal is flashing red. 

 

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"Was it me? I was flustered earlier. Did it hurt them? Have I done something? What happened?"

"You didn't do anything," Dr. Mbenga is focused on the screen, the silence driving Uhura further and further into panic until she can barely keep it together. "Understand that right now. It was nothing you intentionally did."

He is preforming a scan on her abdomen, moving a wand over her taunt skin as he listens intently to a pair of headphones attached to the machine.

Finally, he disconnects the headphones. The sound of three heartbeats, distinct and recognizable from past encounters, is heavenly. Dr. Mbenga turns the screen so she can see.

"There's your boy." he says, pointing around the monitor, "Here's one girl. And there is the other."

He shows her a 3D scan of their faces. It is unimportant to the task at hand but greatly comforting. Uhura is thankfully for the umpteenth time that a human is her doctor. He points to one of the girls, gesturing to the space over her left hip bone. "That's the one giving us all this trouble, that's the little fire breather."

Dr. Mbenga puts away his tools and leans towards her, "Here's what happened. One of your babies' heart is working less efficiently. The monitor picked it up." She chokes and Dr. Mbenga quickly continues. "It's still functioning. But for reasons I can't determine, it's not working at full capacity. I need to do more tests."

"My baby boy Suhayl, a few years ago," Uhura says, trying not to cry, "He was born with a bad heart. Is that . . . ? Can you . . .?"

The words break down her charade and she doesn't even bother wiping away the tears. Dr. Mbenga takes her hand, his eyes much too emotional. He does not look surprised. He must have seen her medical history.

"I will look into that," he says.

"Are you going to deliver me early?" she asks. The very idea is terrifying. She is not even full term for a human gestation, let alone a hybrid.

"Not if I can help it. The babies are safest if they stay where they are as long as possible."

That is the right direction, this is what she needs. A goal. She clears her throat and is pleased to find her voice is steady, "What do I have to do?"

"I want to admit you. I'll put you at top priority. If she goes into cardiac distress, I can deliver you in less than eight minutes."

"Okay," she says, without hesitation, "I'll do whatever I have to do."

 

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	9. Chapter 9

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IX

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Dr. M’Benga demonstrates a commendable devotion to Nyota and her unborn children’s health in the days following her admission to the medical center. The day after she moves to the medical center, Dr. M’Benga comes to her with a diagnosis for her fetus’ condition. Nyota allows Sarek to join their discussion.

“It is a condition much like Rh sensitization in humans. Very rare. All but eliminated in humans with prenatal care. I’ve delivered 60 human-Vulcan hybrids and I’ve never seen it before.” Dr. M’Benga explains, “The baby girl with the issue has type T-negative blood, like her father. Your body has, in essence, inadvertently recognized her as an antigen. She has just begun developing her cardiovascular system, as a fully genetic Vulcan fetus would. Your body’s response to her presence interfered with her cardiovascular development. Fortunately no other systems have been impacted.”

Nyota stares at the foot of her bed for so long, Sarek briefly wonders if she is listening. Finally, she says, “Is there anything you can do?”

“I’ve personally developed medication which will stop your body’s reaction. However,” Dr. M’Benga pauses, “She has already developed a severe heart defect.”

Nyota rolls her eyes, clutching her chin to stop it from shaking. She turns away but Dr. M’Benga moves to the other side of her bed. 

“I know of a surgery with a new kind of artificial heart, one I’ve successfully performed twice before. I’ve sent out orders to suppliers already. She will require it immediately after birth but I think it will result in very promising outcomes.”

“And if she doesn’t have it?”

“She will have it. I expect the part will be here in six to eight weeks, just before your delivery.”

Nyota does not respond to him. Finally, Dr. M’Benga simply squeezes her shoulder and stands to leave. When he is at the door, Nyota says, “Dr. M’Benga. Is this why my son was ...?”

“There is no way to know for certain now,” Dr. M’Benga says, “It is possible.”

 

Nyota turned, pulled her bedding up to her chin and closed her eyes. Dr. M’Benga checks her monitors and then leaves. Sarek stays for another hour but she does not speak to him.

 

For several days following, she is, understandably, reserved. Sarek makes himself available to her but she is distant and unwilling to request anything of him. Thus, he resorts to seeking advice from Dr. M'Benga, who suggested he find activities to occupy her thoughts.

 

She feigns enjoyment over the scholarly articles and games he brought for her but they hold her attention for only a few moments before he sees her gaze begin to wander. However, he is more than willing to persist.

It was not an entirely selfless endeavor. She was likely not aware of the impact her strong emotions had on their familial bond. 

Years prior, when his son was an instructor at Starfleet Academy, he had first felt the overpowering, intoxicating, unrelenting emotions his son felt towards Nyota. When she had bonded with his son, the connection had only strengthened although with frequent meditation, he had only felt it infrequently. Close proximity had made her thoughts more insistent but he was mostly successful at pushing them away with long hours of meditation and close control. 

After her admission the addition of her heightened stress to the circumstances made it almost impossible to ignore the immense guilt and emotional pain she was burdened with. Still, he could hardly find fault with her inability to control her emotion. While not as frequent a disruption as Spock’s thoughts were or as intense a connection as the one he had once shared with Amanda, it disturbed him greatly, to invade her mind. He was eager to find relief for both of them.

He attempts to discuss his thoughts three days after Dr. M’Benga’s diagnosis. They are playing three-dimensional chess and she is losing thoroughly. “Are there any topics you would be eager to discuss?”

Nyota, who has been intently studying the rook in her hand, looks at his with a raised eyebrow. “Topics?”

For reasons which entirely escape him, her gaze strips him of his courage. “Yes. Conversations which you would like to have with people? Are there any conversations you would like to have with me or another?”

Nyota’s eyes drop as she thinks. “Are you still unable to contact Spock?”

Sarek nods. According to Starfleet Commands, the Enterprise is in unmapped deep space. Even the advanced communication center at the Embassy cannot make sustained contact with them. Sarek has left several incomplete message for his son, although he is not entirely certain they have been received. 

Nyota sighs and moves her queen to a terrible spot on the board. Sarek makes a mental note to try to reach the Enterprise again later. He moves a knight where she can easily capture it.

“Someone needs to tell my family I’m here,” Nyota says, either ignoring or failing to notice the knight. “They should know what’s going on. Would you call them? Mama, Baba, Kamau. And maybe Makena too if you can find her. Their numbers are programmed on my communicator. I’d do it but I need the big comm and I don’t feel comfortable leaving the medical center right now.”

He quickly agrees, partially because she is earnest in her request and also to be away from her busy mind. That night, Sarek finds the numbers easily on Nyota’s communicator, as they are listed under a tab called ‘Family Contacts’. 

His first call to Nyota’s parents is incredibly unproductive. Instead of human faces, the screen lightens to show a brief note. Nyota’s father and mother are attending a conference on Venus for her mother’s work as a law professor. As part of their trip, they have elected to stay at a Buddhist monastery with no outside contact or any other unneeded stimuli. This is understandable, as they had not expected their daughter to need their attention for at least another month but Sarek still finds it bothering. Nyota desires their attention now.

The second call is just as unsatisfying. Nyota’s brother is on vacation. He and his wife Suri have left, what Sarek assumes is meant to be, a humorous video message, teasing him and all other callers about their trip to a tropical destination. Suri ends the message warning no one to call them and since there are no directions on how to contact them, Sarek must oblige. 

The final call is arguably the most stressful. The tall burly man who answers the call has a thick accent and does not appear to be fluent in Standard. “I sorry sir,” the man pauses, looks Sarek up and down, then continues, “We not taking new orders.”

“I am calling for Makena Uhura,” Sarek says.

“No one has that name here. Only Uhura. You looking for Uhura?”

“Yes. I am looking for an Uhura. Makena Uhura.”

The man turns away from the screen. He yells at a thin boy passing behind him, “Uhura name Makena?”

The boy comes up behind the man who answered to look at Sarek, “You’re looking for Uhura?”

“I am looking for Uhura,” Sarek replies, “Makena Uhura.”

“Our boss’ name is Uhura.” the boy says, “But I think her first name is Treyana.”

“No,” the man who answered the call says, “Uhura first name is Malina I am thinking.”

“It’s Treyana,” the boy tells the man, “Remember her birthday cake last year?”

“Malina.”

“Treyana.”

“I would like to speak to that Uhura, regardless of her first name,” Sarek says, hoping the two wouldn’t start fighting.

There is some static on the screen but Sarek is fairly certain the boy says, “She’s in the mammoth’s cage. Someone got gored. Can I take a message?” 

“Would you inform her that her sister is at the New Vulcan Medical Center?” Sarek says. Just as the words are spoken, the screen begins to cut out.

“What?”

“Her sister had been admitted to the New Vulcan Medical Center. One of her unborn children is experiencing cardiovascular distress. She is confined to a biobed,” Sarek says, loudly. The screen goes dark for a moment. He makes a move to attempts to fix the problem but the boy and the man reappear on the screen without his interference. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. You said her sister had cardiovascular distress and is dead?” the boy looks at the man, with a sad expression. 

“No. I said -” the screen goes black again and this time Sarek cannot reestablish connection. He sends a text message to Makena, outlining Nyota’s situation instead. 

The next morning, three days after her admission, he arrives in her room to find her reading a book on Orion accents while attempting to eat her breakfast. She is looking over the first page of the book, as she had been the previous night, and has barely touched her food. 

“Dr. M’Benga was quite insistent you have adequate sustenance,” Sarek says.

“I know,” she replies. “It’s giving me acid reflux though.”

Her guilt is at bay, as it always is in the morning, but 10.7 seconds after he reminds her she must have proper nutrition he begins to feel it edging into her - and his own - consciousness. She forces the rest of her food into her mouth and swallows with a pained expression. Sarek puts the dishes in the sanitizer. 

“I brought you a holovid.” It is a documentary on eclectic Orion dessert delicacies, one of Amanda’s favorites. Sarek hands her the cover to read and pulls his compact player from his bag. Without warning, Nyota drops the case. 

“I’m sorry,” Nyota says, shaking her head. She appears confused.

Sarek reaches to pick up the case and Nyota cries out. She is clutching the sides of her head with both hands. 

“Are you in pain? Shall I get the doctor?” 

Nyota groans through clenched teeth, her body shaking. A jumble of nonsense spills from her mouth. Her body begins to curl into a ball.

Sarek stands but Nyota cries out again, reaching for him. “Feels like a fire in my head. I’ve felt this before.”

He pauses. He remembers this phenomena. “Your children are forging a neural link with you. As you do not naturally have such pathways, it will be more painful than a normal link.”

Nyota groans loudly again, tears streaming down her cheeks. Sarek turns off the light in the room and closes the door to make her more comfortable. From the light of the machines and the glowing sliver of space under the door, he can see the outline of her form. Her heart is beating much too quickly and her breathing is labored. 

Several minutes pass and she shows no sign that her pain is dissipating. Sarek recalls Amanda’s episode lasted well over three hours. It will no doubt cause him further distress but her pain is already almost tangible to him. As a child, he learned from his mother, a healer. He takes his seat at her side and speaks to her in a quiet voice. “Nyota, would you allow me to meld with you? I may be able to connect the links and alleviate your pain.”

Nyota takes a deep breath. “Do it.” 

He reaches out, hesitating, his hands hovering over her face. She turns her head to make the final contact. 

Inside her mind, her emotional strain almost overwhelms him. He quickly blocks himself from the rapid influx of her thoughts and memories. The fledgling link is easy to access. It is really not a matter of creating a link as hybrid children already have well-established capabilities. It is an issue of guiding and connecting their links to the area of Nyota’s mind open to such connections. 

This, however, is easier said than done.

The first connection is easily made. Outside of his mind, he hears Nyota’s breathing returning to normal. The second is the distressed child. Her bond is just as strong as the others. However, as expected, when he connects to it, he feels the unborn girl’s physical pain. Maintaining control of his emotions in the face of her torment strips him of his ability to keep their minds separate. He is able to connect the final link with some difficulty but finally he does. He swiftly pulls away from Nyota.  

It takes a moment for his vision to return. When it does, he sees Nyota, panting heavily but no longer in intense pain. She does not appear relieved though. 

“Did you,” she whispers, clutching her midsection. “Did you feel how weak she was?”

Sarek opens his mouth but he is at a loss for words. Nyota’s lips begin to quiver. This development is overwhelming. He jumps to his feet, pushes past the Vulcans staff who have assembled at the door who quickly disperse as he passes. Instantly, he realizes the flaw of his ways. He finds a water fountain, fills a cup, and returns to Nyota. 

She looks surprised to see him return. He hands her the cup of water and she takes it. She does not drink at first, only looks confused at it. Then, she glances at him, murmurs thanks, and takes a sip.

“Have you heard from Spock?”

“I have not.”

Nyota’s eyes, which were red and inflamed to begin with, begin to moisten. “Why not?”

“I don’t have a sufficient response to that inquiry.”

Nyota’s tears run down her cheeks. She does not wipe them away. 

This inspires Sarek to speak without contemplating on his words. “I am here ko-fu.”

“I know.” Nyota quickly buries her head in her pillow and bursts into tears. Sarek wishes desperately to leave but he cannot. Several seconds pass, too many for him to count even if he wanted to, before she stops and falls asleep. 

When she finally awakens later, he is grateful to have something to say to her. 

“It is approximately 8:30,” he reminds her.

Nyota had established a ritual, starting just after her second trimester began, as she had told him, of speaking Klingon to her babies in the morning following breakfast, Vulcan in the afternoon at lunch, and Swahili after having dinner. Spock, having seen the benefits of multilingualism, often joined her through vocal recordings. Sarek had not been aware of this habit until she was moved to the medical center. 

“What exactly is the benefit of learning Klingonese?” He asks still somewhat uncertain of her lingual inspirations, after she begins the session with a greeting.

“What isn’t the benefit of knowing Klingonese?” Nyota replies, her Klingon accent so flawless he is slightly unnerved. “You can curse ferociously. You can negotiate military treaties. You can frighten people just by asking for an apple.”  She repeats what she has said to him in Standard. Next she says the date and time.

“I see you have thought about the matter thoroughly,” Sarek says. He would accept any reason she could give him. The language lesson separates their minds, at least for a moment. Additionally, it gives him the pleasure of feeling his grandchildren’s contentment at the sound at their mother’s voice. Nyota must feel it now as well because she begins to smile.

“I have,” Nyota says, giving him a look. “If you do as well, I am certain you will come to the same conclusion.”

“I believe they would benefit from additional stimuli in the form of a novel voice,” Sarek says. “Are you amiable?”

“Of course.”

He begins describing a complex equation. He feels Nyota recognize his words and then a rush of affection. Another one of her memories is forming in his head. She has heard Spock describing it after having nightmares to calm himself. This is not surprising as he often used to explained the equation to soothe his infant son back to sleep. He quickly pushes her mind away. 

He finishes his explanation and Nyota begins describing the room. She is just getting into the detailed design on a vase when a voice at the door says, “Oh Nyota. That’s nerdy, even for you.”

Nyota squeals and the stranger at the door tosses her bag into a corner, says, “If they come out and all they can speak is a mess of words from a dozen different languages, I’ll be the first to laugh.”

The young woman at the door shares several facial features with Nyota including a high forehead, prominent cheekbones, and a delicate chin. Sarek assumes the girl is her sister. When she runs across the room to kiss Nyota’s cheeks, he determines that his hypothesis has been affirmed.

“You had me so worried,” the woman says, leaning her forehead against Nyota’s. “Some idiot called my ship and told my people you were dead.”

Nyota glances at Sarek, whose cheeks are green. “I’m sure they meant well.”

Makena glances at Sarek. “It was you who called?”

He nods.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just scared.”

Nyota pulls the girl close, longer than Sarek assumed most humans normally held an embrace for, and he prepared himself for a rush of emotion. There is a sensation much like being given water, food, and rest after one’s kahs-wan, nostalgia and deep love. Sarek forces his breathing into a calming pattern to rid himself of the novel emotions. 

“This is my Makena,” Nyota says, still holding the girl. “Makena, this is Sarek.”

“Nice to meet you,” Makena says. Her voice is muffled by Nyota’s shoulder. She does not turn to look at Sarek. 

“He is Spock’s father,” Nyota says, rubbing her sister’s back. “You met him before.”

Makena shakes her head, “He wasn’t at your ceremony remember? You were - well. Then I left before the reception because Baba and I argued about something stupid like always. I think I liked the hall and he didn’t.”

Nyota shrugs at Sarek. “It has been too long. I missed you so much. Where have you been at? We haven’t talked in over a year. Even Mama didn’t know where you went.”

“A couple of us got quarantined until last week,” Makena says. She finally steps back from her sister to sit on the edge of the biobed. “We were transporting three tons of fertilizer for a colony on Beta Psi. Got infected with a neural parasite. I thought I was a cat for a month. Thankfully my partner kept things going.”

Nyota tisks sympathetically but Makena shrugs, “We got 450 pounds of Andorian winter squash in return. The cook is a magician with the stuff. So it wasn’t all bad.”

Nyota smiles, looks at Sarek, “Makena owns a courier company.”

“I’m sorry if Sinclair and X’Jaya scared you earlier,” Makena says to Sarek. “We were transporting some Algorian mammoths. One of the things almost took out one of my girls before someone found a stun gun.”

“And you left all that for me?” Nyota says.

“It was hard decision. Tusk to the backside or go visit my sister. I had to think about it,” Makena says, winking at her. “But anyway, I was gone for too long from you. When did this happen?”

“What? This?” Nyota gesture to her stomach. “Little girl. You have been gone too long.”

“Tell me everything. How did you let Spock know?” Makena take Nyota’s hand and curls up so they are both on the bed.

“I didn’t,” Nyota says shaking her head at the memory. “We agreed to try once more. We thought it had failed. At the same time, our Captain was asking about my birthday because he wanted to have a party for me. Crew morale or something like that. But I didn’t want a party so I kept blowing him off. Then one day, I went to have a second test done because I wasn’t feeling well. It was positive. Our CMO said the first might have failed because it was too early to tell for a hybrid pregnancy. I ran to the bridge to tell Spock but just as I was about to tell him, the Captain ran in and blurted out, ‘You’re pregnant?’”

“How did he even know?” Makena asks.

“He went through my personnel file to find my birthday, just as it was being updated by the CMO.”

“You yelled at him right?”

“And how,” Nyota says. “But Spock was so happy.”

“I can only imagine,” Makena smiles. “Speaking of which. Where is Spock?”

Nyota’s smiled fades slightly, “The Enterprise is out of range of the communication lab. Sarek left him several messages. He’ll get here when he can.” 

Makena rubs her sister’s stomach, “How much longer do you have to go?” 

“A month or two.”

“Are you excited? I mean it will be a lot of work but you’ll be comfortable again.”

Nyota shakes her head, “No. I mean, I would like some relief but I like having it be just the four of us together. Plus, they’re safe where they are.”

“They? The four of you?”

“Triplets.”

Makena makes a face, “Can you believe her sometimes Sarek? She’s addicted to stress, right? It’s not just me.”

“It’ll be good stress though, right?” Nyota grins, burying her face in her sister’s neck. “I’m so scared.”

“Oh Nyota. You’d be insane if you weren’t,” Makena smooths her sister’s hair. She turns and smiles at Sarek. “You been taking good care of my only sister?”

“To the best of my abilities,” he replies. 

“Good. She needs all the help she can get,” Makena turns and rests her chin on Nyota’s head. “I came as soon as I heard she had been admitted. Got to keep her entertained while she’s on bed rest or she’ll do something drastic. Did she ever tell you about the time she twisted her ankle and got so bored while healing up, she tried to teach a monkey how to speak Klingon?” 

“Stop!” Nyota protests. She glances at Sarek, “I really thought it would work. They share many physiological similarities including almost identical voice boxes and it was summer and I was angry at the world and I really was too young to understand they didn’t have the cognitive capabilities . . .” Her voice trails off. 

“It’s okay Nyota. I’m sure he knows you’re weird,” Makena says. Nyota push her lightly and Makena grins, turning to Sarek. “Why don’t you take some time to yourself? I’ll stay with her.”

“Are you certain?”

“Go. We’ll be fine,” Nyota reassures him. 

He reluctantly obliges. It is an excellent idea. Back at his home, Zorat has dedicated all of her energy to gnawing on an old wooden chair. When Sarek attempts to chastise the sehlat, the beast rubs up against its owner. Then Zorat puts a paw against Nyota’s door, looking pointedly at Sarek. 

“You must not destroy our home, regardless of whether or not you miss her,” Sarek says, giving the sehlat a metal toy, designed to withstand chewing. Zorat sniffs the toy for a moment and then turns away with an insulted huff. The sehlat begins trying to press her considerable bulk behind the couch instead and Sarek retires to his room for some meditation. 

He returns to the medical center a few hours later. Nyota is sleeping, her hair elaborately braided, her feet glistening with lotion, and her nails freshly painted. Sarek briefly wonders if he should have attempted such gestures for Nyota. They appear to have calmed her considerably. Makena sitting at her side, watching her sister, one hand tossing a bottle of lotion into the air and catching it. 

When Sarek enters, Makena turns and give him a false smile, the bottle falling under the bed as she fails to catch it. “Did you rest?”

“I did. Thank you.”

Makena nods, standing up. “Is there anywhere you can take me where I could get something to eat?”

“Of course. There is a food store nearby.”

Makena grabs her bag and follows him into the hall. “That sounds perfect.”

They walk in silence for a few moments. Makena is checking her communicator for messages from her employees. Meanwhile, Sarek, keenly aware of the stares of others, is making sure to meet the eyes of each person they passes and acknowledge them. Nyota has not been alone often since her admission but he still takes care to be on the good side of all who work there. 

“She’s brave, isn’t she?” Makena says suddenly. 

“She is.”

“She gets that from our Mama.”

“Does she?”

“Yup. And I, unfortunately, take after my father.”

“Is that unfortunate? Nyota has told me he was an accomplished physician and an excellent provider.”

“He was. I’m talking about his personality.”

“I see.”

“Yeah. I always had my head in the clouds when we were young. I wanted to grow up to be everything from a Masai warrior to President of Kenya. Nyota was grounded. Good at school, close to our parents. I was the bad child. Ran away to Mars the minute I graduated from high school. Thought I was the best there ever was and the best never needs rules and structure. Even now, I disappear for months when people need me.”

Few know this fact but Sarek had once been a physicist until he had accepted a position as an ambassador’s attache, against his family’s wishes. In some ways, he too had been like Makena. “There is some bravery in your choice as well. Perhaps the rebelliousness was short sighted but your perseverance is admirable.”

Makena snorts, holding the door out of the medical center open, “No. I was a stupid kid who got things they didn’t really deserve. That’s the very definition of being lucky. I mean, my mother loves me just as she loves Nyota and Kamau, just as she came to love Spock and Suri, Kamau’s wife. That’s a universal constant. But my Baba, he never forgave me. A couple years ago, I took a young girl to her father through a war zone. Little did I know, he was a warlord. I was charged by the Federation for aiding and abetting a war criminal. I was acquitted but my father disowned me. Now we can’t tolerate each other, even for family things.”

Sarek thought about the anger he had felt when Spock joined Starfleet. “Parents see a wealth of potential in their children and that often results in a very specific perception of their future. When this idea does not come to fruition, it is difficult to accept.” 

“Nah. I was a brat,” Makena shakes her head at this but Sarek does not expect her to understand. She does not appear to have children of her own. “Nyota, though, she was always a good person. She doesn’t deserve any of this. She would be such a good mother.”

“The chances of her child being born with a defect is approximately 97%. However, the survival rate of the procedure Dr. M’Benga suggested is 87%. There is only a 23% chance of further health consequences.”

Makena looks Sarek over. “Any chance is really too much though, isn’t it?”

At the store, Makena buys several pastries, some fruit, and a sugary drink, along with some candies for Nyota. They make their way back to the medical center but Makena begins eating immediately. 

“Please excuse me. It’s been days since I ate,” she takes a bite so large she can barely close her mouth as she chews. “You want some?”

“No thank you.”

She finishes the pastry and eagerly begins eating another. “I love Vulcan food. I mean your savory foods aren’t to my taste but you really love your spices in your desserts and I can get down with that every time.”

“Many spices have multiple health benefits.”

“And they’re delicious.”

A nurse watches them when they pass through the lobby. Makena sees her gaze and takes another bite from her pastry, winking at her. The nurse looks away, flustered.

“When we get back to the room, Nyota might be a little raw,” Makena says. “Just try to be nice to her. Make her feel loved. Listen, you know?”

Vulcans are taught at an early age how to behave amongst others and while there are no guidelines of decorum in situations like this he is fairly certain her directions will violate protocol. “Would you like to play three-dimensional chess when we return to Nyota’s room?”

“Huh?”

“Nyota has had a trying morning. Perhaps she would appreciate some distraction.”

Makena stops, “I don’t think she’s in the kind of situation you can just fix with games and stories though.” Makena sees Sarek’s face and pauses outside Nyota’s door. “I’m not saying give her a hug or something. I am actually just trying to encourage you to do what you’ve been doing. She really thinks you hung the moon. I can tell. And thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me.”

“You deserve it though. Not everyone could do what you did.”

Nyota is eating lunch when they return. She smiles at them when they enter and Sarek is pleased to see it is a genuine expression. She sees Makena’s pastries and says,“I’ll trade you.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Makena says, wrinkling her nose at the thin broth Nyota has been given. 

“And you sa-mekh? Would you like some?” Nyota asks.

“Absolutely not ko-fu. You need the nutrition more.”

“Well, alright. More for me. I know how you hate plomeek.”

He does dislike plomeek soup but Nyota has no way of knowing that from experience. She is not fond enough of it to request it and they have never eaten it together. There is only one way she could have know this fact. 

Makena begins sharing a story about a man from Zimbabwe for whom she had escorted an artificial kidney to. To Makena’s horror at the time, the man gave her a small dilithium mine off planet as payment. As she begins describing the difficulties of operating the mine, she remains completely unaware that the familial bond between Sarek and her sister is no longer one sided. 

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	10. Chapter 10

 

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“Can you hear the piccolo? It’s just behind the bass, almost like a teasing . . .” Nyota stops, biting her lip. Of course he can hear it. She saw his expression change when the new sound arose. 

“I find its tone most fascinating.”

“Really?” Nyota  says. “You know I do too but I’ve never heard anyone else say that before.”

“You enjoy music appreciation and yet you have never interacted with one who would enjoy a certain tone?”

“Nope,” Nyota smiles at an old memory. “My brother played the flute and then the piccolo when he became a better player. In my experience, no matter one’s skill level, no one likes listening to the piccolo.”

Makena, who is off buying Nyota some toiletries, could tell Sarek much more about this phenomena with examples from personal experience. However, Nyota, who is also a performer, keeps such memories to herself. 

“Amanda plays the violin masterfully,” he stops, shakes his head in confusion, clears his throat. “It was an instrument which demanded rigorous technical training and rehearsal along with impeccable talent and auditory skill. She was an exceptional player but few properly appreciated her skill. I believe the piccolo is akin to the violin in that regard.”

Nyota wants stop. The direction of this conversation is sad and neither of them wants to experience it. Yet, he has offered himself and she feels the need to give also. 

“My son enjoyed Mozart’s violin pieces.”

He is quiet, his eyes lingering for a half-second on her midsection but she shakes her head before he can even formulate a false idea. 

“No. Our first son, Suhayl.” She pauses. “When I was off duty, I would play music for him and he moved so much that I used to imagine he was dancing, happy.”

Sarek is silent and the music fills the room but neither of them hear it. Nyota remembers Spock calling Sarek to tell him the sad news, her husband’s voice low and slightly unstable. Spock had waited until he thought she was asleep to tell his father. 

“I remember that pain. S’ti th’laktra.” Sarek had said and that was all she could bring herself to remember about the late night call. 

Sarek is the first to speak. “In utero, Spock enjoyed hearing music as well." He is watching her now, as if he knows he is testing the limits of both of their control. “As I recall one of his sisters did also.”

“Spock had a sister?”

"No. However, he was not our first attempt at conceiving children."

Then, just for a moment, a memory that is not her own cross through her mind. She is in a hospital room with Amanda, watching as the woman cries in front of a disapproving Vulcan doctor. This is not the first time this situation had occurred but the tears and the disapproval are not new either. Sarek pulls away when he is certain Nyota has experienced the memory. Back in Nyota’s room, he is starring at his hands, avoiding her gaze.

"I almost had a daughter once before too," she blurts out and then quickly raises the volume on the music player as if this will make him unhear what she just said.

Now, she must stop. She hasn't cried over them in front of another person in years. It is her way, much like it is his, to leave the burdens of the past behind her when they become too heavy to carry. But, there will certainly be tears again if she does not stop now, repression or not.

She had not known the first time. Not when they had asked for crew members for an away mission and she’d volunteered. Not when she had begun bleeding like that and not knowing why. Not until she was back with Dr. McCoy and all he could say over and over again was, “I’m sorry.”

The biggest surprise, of course, was how badly she wanted that child after it was no longer a possibility. 

The pain, while still great, had been different with her second pregnancy, with her first son. Her sadness had been mostly containable and largely directed at herself, not at the child who was more of an idea than anything else. She had planned and hoped for Suhayl. His death had consumed her. 

They had wanted him so badly. She had given birth on Risa, unexpectedly, while on vacation. He had been viable, breathing, living. Then he had begun to fade and there was nothing the doctors there could do for him. They had been forced to watch as he ceased to be. Then and especially now, she could only assume his death had been the result of a misdeed on her part. A failure. 

And then, because he has shared and because for the first time ever she actually wants to tell someone else, rather than being forced to for a session or to explain away an outburst, she gives him a memory too. 

It was the first and only time they had been with him alone. Spock is holding Suhayl, one hand supporting their son’s tiny body, the other stroking his fingers. Nyota is watching, telling Spock that their son has his eyes. The only indication their boy is not well is the small mask he wears and the machine nearby he is connected to.

When Nyota is finally able to, she looks at Sarek. He is still sitting across from her, posture impeccable with his hands laced in his lap, looking as dutiful as a school boy. His eyes are closed and his breath is forcibly patterned. She looks through the window next to her, watches the sun set, waits patiently for his impromptu meditation session to end. 

Nyota wonders if Sarek was like this that night Spock had told him the terrible news. She wonders a lot of things. Such as why she is able to talk to Sarek this easily when she has almost never been able to tell another. 

“Does it ever make sense?” Nyota asks, her voice cracking very much against her will.

"No," he manages between controlled breaths. Nyota has never heard this answer before yet for reasons she cannot fully comprehend, she is comforted knowing he understands.

She looks to the monitor on her wrist which she has worn for months now. Three heartbeats. She looks at the monitor often. She looks for signs of life obsessively and she will continue to do so until she is certain she has finally fulfilled the penance for whatever past, present, or future sin against providence she had committed. This time, however, she flicks the volume on her monitor up so that he too can hear the three steady rhythms.

They both hope desperately that all three hearts continue their cadence.

 

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	11. Chapter 11

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XI

 

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“I do need all five,” Makena says. She lines up her five communicators on the table and points to each in turn, “These three are for work. I never have a busy line that way. This one is for personal use. And this one is for very personal use.”

“Oh?” Nyota asks.

“Yeah, it’s got my highest tetris score programed into it.”

“Oh,” Nyota says. She adjusts the pillows supporting her lower back but it doesn’t make her any more comfortable. She tries not to be jealous of Makena, who’s upside down in one of the visitor’s chairs. Nyota can’t even walk five steps to the bathroom without getting winded. Makena was pacing in the hall earlier while she talked to a client and wasn’t even out of breath after. 

“What is tetris?” Sarek asks.  

“Only the greatest game ever created. Here I’ll show you how to play,” Makena brings her communicator over to Sarek and explains the rules. Then she returns to the computer, mission command as she calls it, set up in the corner. There are a dozen glowing dots on the screen, each a different ship on a different mission. Makena is currently organizing a voyage to bring solar panels to Mars. Nyota can’t help but be proud of her sister. She wishes her father could see how hard-working and industrious his youngest daughter is. 

This game is infuriating. Nyota turns to Sarek as his thought echoes through her mind. I require a straight bar to clear lines and I am given a square instead.

Happens to the best of us, she responds without saying a word. Nyota squirms again. When she crosses her legs and angles her arms just so, the pain in her back is less annoying. But only for a moment. 

It takes an embarrassing amount of force to pushes herself onto her side yet she somehow manages without help. From the new angle, the changes to her body are that much more apparent. Spock has read dozens of medical books and journals and has promised her over and over her body will heal itself just fine after birth but it currently seems like an impossible feat. 

Nyota searches her mind. Sarek is there, their bond strong given he is less than five feet away. She can feel her babies too, their connection a chaotic hum of emotions compared to the distinct and clear thoughts of their grandfather. They seems content to her relief. Her marital link to Spock is distant and weak, like yelling to a person too far away to hear. He and the Enterprise are still nowhere to be found. By now Makena and Sarek have left dozens and dozens of messages for him.

Now, she pushes against her mattress, feeling the urge to sit up. Something feels off but she can’t put her finger on what. Then she feels a new sensation. Across the room, she hear a mocking tune. Sarek has just lost his game, his attention on her instead of the moving blocks. 

“Are you copacetic, ko-fu?”

She is too embarrassed to answer at first. It could be something serious but it more likely she has merely lost control of her bodily functions. Then Nyota feels the sheets beneath her growing wet. Makena turns away from her work to look at her sister, “What is it Nyota?”

“Can you go get Dr. M’Benga?”

Sarek quickly leaves the room. Makena comes to the side of the bed, her eyes searching Nyota’s form for signs of hurt. “Nyota?” 

“It’s nothing, dear. I think my water broke.”

It is incredible how easily her composed and confident sister becomes an panicky idiot. Makena crosses the room in two steps, reaching for the communicator Sarek left behind. She stops herself, turning, looking furiously for something. 

Nyota presses the button on her wrist. Dr. M’Benga gave her a pager for emergencies but his voice does not materialize when she calls him now. Nyota has a sneaking suspicion he is avoiding her after his announcement this morning that the artificial heart her daughter needs has still not arrived. Makena is dumping her purse, leaving clothes, phasers, papers, grenades, and a transportable sanitizing device on the floor. She does not find what she is looking for and immediately pushes one of the visitor’s chairs into a wall. 

“It’s okay Makena,” Nyota says, hugging herself, “I promise. Everything will be fine.”

“What are you basing this off of Nyota?” Makena cries, “Where is the doctor? Where is Spock? Where the hell is my communicator?”

As if to emphasize the final word in her last question, Makena upends another bag onto the floor. Her eyes dart over the contents before she groans and moves to shuffle through the thing she left scatter over the table.  

“I’m just hoping,” Nyota says. The past few weeks with her sister and father-in-law have done wonders for her stress but seeing Makena tearing apart her room in response to this new development is causing both sisters to unravel.

“Well, I’m trying to make sure it’s fine,” Makena retorts. She glances at Nyota. Neither sister has ever been very good at hiding emotion from the other and Makena stands straight, composing herself for a moment, forcing a smile, “You’re right, big sister. Everything will be fine.”

A pain much like a bad cramp sweeps across Nyota’s abdomen and despite her attempts to hide it, Makena notices Nyota’s hands fisting and instantly goes back to her search, “Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. The minute I find this damn communicator everything will be fine.”

“There are five . . .”

“I know, Nyota! I have a sixth for emergencies. I use it to leave messages for Spock. It’s the only one which can make deep space calls,” Makena points at her sister, “And don’t you dare lecture me right now about how impractical that is.”

To be honest, that was the last thing on her mind but now that Makena has said it, Nyota can’t help but agree with the sentiment. 

“Forget the communicator. Come over here and hold my hand before I pass out from this -” Nyota can’t finish her sentence as the pain intensifies. 

Makena quickly kicks her way through the piles of stuff she has created on the floor. “I’m here. I’m here.” 

Nyota squeezes her sister’s wrist as Makena idly uses her foot to pushes around her things on the floor. A few minutes pass, Makena sighs in defeat. Nyota hangs her head, already tiring. Makena notices.  

“Tell me what to do,” Makena asks, massaging her sister’s palm, “Whatever you need, I’ll get it.”

“Just stay with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Absolutely,” Makena glances back at the door. Makena often naps in the bed with Nyota despite warnings not to and there is one particular nurse, a nasty Vulcan male, who seems to have dedicated his life to expelling Makena from the room for this violation of protocol. Seeing the hallway is clear, Makena joins Nyota in the biobed. 

“Why do you even want the communicator? Can it preform miracles?” The weeks spent in a hospital bed have obviously affected her mind because a small part of Nyota stupidly hopes the communicator can indeed preform miracles.  

“You’d be surprised,” Makena huffs. Nyota leans against her and Makena gently strokes her back. Just as Nyota begins to calm some, Makena jerks around, reaching in her pocket and pulling out the emergency communicator she had just been looking for. 

Before Nyota can even speak, Makena is calling someone, “Perris! I need something big. Tell everyone to cancel what they’re doing and be on alert for orders. What? Well, I’m sorry I woke you. Grab some coffee and get on it.” 

“What are you doing?” Nyota asks. 

Before Makena can answer, Sarek and Dr. M’Benga return. Dr. M’Benga has a hypospray with him and he explains to her, “This will stop your contractions, okay?”

Nyota gaps at Dr. M’Benga. How could he have known she was contracting? Then she notices Sarek is pale and slightly bent over. I’m sorry, she tells him through their joined minds. 

Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim, He responds, But please, allow him to give you the hypospray for both our sakes. 

Nyota nods, tilting her head to indicate consent. After, Dr. M’Benga moves to gives her a physical examination. Sarek focuses on Nyota’s eyes as Dr. M’Benga lifts her gown. When he sees the raw panic in her eyes, he comes and sit close to her bed. 

“Listen, Perris,” Makena is whispering ferociously into her communicator as she types into the computer, “I’m sending coordinates. Send Kor, not X’Jaya, not Wendy, not anyone but Kor, to the first. Then I need you to send Rhea and Jade to the second. Make sure they takes their licenses. They’re my back up plan, they’ll be getting an artificial organ out of processing.”

“Nyota?” Dr. M’Benga says. She lifts her head to look at him. “First of all, I’m very proud of you. Carrying hybrids is difficult, to carry hybrid triplets for this long is unprecedented. You’ve done great, yeah?”

Nyota nods. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t let her fear consume her. She doesn’t have the benefit of being selfish. There is a task at hand.

“We need to deliver,” Dr. M’Benga says. 

“I’m not due for almost a month. My husband isn’t here,” Nyota says. “My daughter - Will she be alright if - ?”

“You’ve lost a lot of amniotic fluid. Your body is already prepared to give birth and there will be consequences if we wait too long,” Dr. M’Benga touches her hand, “I can alert the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. We can keep her going for a few days. Hopefully the heart will arrive by then if I make some calls. But you have to think of the other two.”

Nyota is torn. Her daughter is fragile. She has felt this and she has known this for some time. Her other children are well but there is no telling what can happen if they are premature. Complicating everything is the deep desire she has to see all three born, healthy and whole. 

“Nyota,” Makena calls. Nyota looks to her, blinking hard, “Nyota, I’m going to get that heart for her. One way or another. I’m sending someone for Spock too. Don’t worry. Just do what you need to do. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Dr. M’Benga turns to her, “You’re certain?”

“My people will make it happen,” Makena says.  

“I can put her in stasis for the next eighteen to twenty-four hours. I need to prep for surgery. Is that enough time for you?”

“More than enough,” Makena replies. She smiles at Nyota, poised once again, and Nyota feels a small rush of confidence. Makena turns back to her communicator, “Perris. I also need two more ships. One is going to United States of Africa. The other is going on a hunting trip.”

Nyota looks to Sarek. “I have an inordinate confidence in your ability to make the most ideal decision.”

“Alright,” Nyota says to Dr. M’Benga, “I trust you.”

The next few minutes are a blur. Makena gives Nyota a long hug, “I’m going to do everything I can for you and your babies. I promise.” Then she kisses her sister and runs to her computer to make more arrangements. Nurses and doctors arrive to wheel her into the room where the cryostasis machine is waiting, on and humming with life. There are other patients there, frozen in time. Some are waiting to be alive again, men, women, and children who need special procedures who cannot live until their ailments are cured. Other are looking for a better end. The elderly and others who are close to death that wait for family and friends to come and say their goodbyes. 

“Don’t worry,” Dr. M’Benga says as he loads her into the machine. An intravenous is secured to her arms and almost instantly she feels her blood go cold. Her eyes are dropping easily and her body grows heavy.  

She tries not to think of her own child, waiting in this room, for life or death. She tries to  follow Dr. M’Benga’s last order. 

But she can’t. 

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Captain Kirk is staring openly at Spock as his commanding officers moves about the bridge, giving aid and encouragement to those who need it. Nyota and Kirk taught Spock this, that humans and really most species required emotional support to soothe their fickle confidences. When Spock is finished and ready to focus his energy of the communication center, which was destroyed in the first ion storm which stranded them on Heralia, the Captain is still watching him. 

Uncertain how to react to this attention, Spock busies himself with the wiring under the console. He makes some adjustments and checks on the connection medium. As he pulls himself out from under, he finds himself face to face with the Captain, who moved to sit at the chief communication officer’s chair.  

“I just wanted to say,” Kirk sighs, “Thanks. For everything you did down there. It’s always nice to know someone has my back.” 

“I am confused,” Spock replies. 

Kirk’s eyebrow jumps, “I’m referring to the rescue mission you planned. Remember? They were going to sacrifice me and you -” 

“No,” Spock interjects, “I am merely perplexed at the significance of having ownership of someone else’s vertebrae. Particularly as I am not currently in possession of one of yours and additionally because I feel you would be angered at being paralyzed rather than adoring.” 

“Alrighty then,” Kirk stands up, “First off, you’re a dork. That can’t be helped. Second, thanks again. And finally, I’m here for you too. In all aspects of your life. Including new roles.” 

Spock’s expression is unchangeably vacant so Kirk adds, “I’m offering my support for when the kids arrive. You and Uhura are my family and I want you to see me as an uncle.”

“You are not the brother of my father. That fact may make your erroneous relation impossible to completely accept.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there buddy because this is clearly too much for you. I’m coming over to your room later. We’re going to finish setting up the nursery. Maybe we’ll drink. Maybe we’ll play chess. Maybe we’ll gossip. I don’t know. But we’ll definitely be bonding, I can tell you that much.”

Spock’s faces goes green and Kirk bites his tongue as he realizes the implication of his final statement. 

“Stop. Don’t tell me you’re married. I know you are. We’re spending time together. I’m going to think more about what I say. You’re going to learn to understand the idiotic things humans, or really just me, say.”

Spock’s lips purse slightly. Kirk snaps, “Just shut up.”

Kirk throws himself back in his chair with a huff. Vulcans. He hopes Spock understands his gesture but he’s couldn’t be sure what with the emotional constipation and such. It wasn’t like he had been expecting a hug or something. 

Not after conversation, at least. 

His eyes traveled around the bridge and the warm fuzzy feelings he had been having earlier returned. Especially when he saw Scotty. The guy had been the linchpin in Spock’s plan to get them out of the prison. And for his troubles, he had contracted a bad case of Heralian pox. The engineer never complained. He simply pushed through the pain and was currently working on the navigation system. 

Still, there was something strange about a grown man with pox, Kirk thought as he watched Scotty and Charlene fixing the control panels. Maybe it was the nasally scottish accent. Or the strange curses he muttered under his breath, as he savagely scratched his inflamed skin. Or the oatmeal paste McCoy had given him to smear on his sores. Whatever it was, the Captain couldn’t stop staring at his chief of engineering. 

So he failed to notice his CMO entering the bridge and walking behind him until the hairs on his neck rose. By then it was too late. Before Kirk could even turn his head, the hypo was on his skin. 

“Shit,” Kirk blurts as the hypos hit his skin with a jolt of pain.  

“Can anyone guess what I discovered today?” McCoy asks loudly, holding Kirk in his seat as he made another hypo. The crew turns away from their repairs. “Anyone? Oh come on. What did I find in my office today?” 

“A desk?” Sulu asks.  

“You’re next, just for that,” McCoy snaps, “But no. After I diagnosed Mr. Scott, I thought I would check over the personnel files to see if anyone was behind on their regulation medical shots. And lo and behold,” McCoy pauses to give Jim another hypo. Their Captain yelps unheroically, “Dozens and dozens of crew members dodging their reminders to come and have their shots. Captain Kirk, always one to set an example, behind on 28 vaccinations.” 

Behind McCoy, Chekov casually picks up a report and slowly makes his way to the exit. Without turning, McCoy barks, “MQQ47892.” 

The doors to the bridge shut and lock. “Sit down Chekov. That’s a medical quarantine code. No one but the CMO can override it. You’re getting your 12 shots.”

Kirk squirms but McCoy holds tightly to his captain’s shoulder. He has an entire rant prepared and they would hear every damn word.  

“You people just don’t care. You don’t care at all. It doesn’t matter if my eyes implode from Bajorian flu. It doesn’t matter if my blood turns to acid from Ion Toxicity. It doesn’t matter if my my body freezes itself because I didn’t take enough Anti-Betadine. Dr. McCoy will scrap my half dead carcass off the floor and put me right back together. Well I got news for you all. I don’t want to die. If there is a class five contamination on this ship, I’m barricading myself in my office and you’re all gonna be down shit creek without a paddle.” 

Kirk squeals like a stuck pig through his next three hyposprays, each noise of indignation louder than the previous. Finally, McCoy releases him and moves towards Chekov. The small ensign yelps, “You said Sulu vas next!” 

“You’re closer,” McCoy growls. The ensign makes one final attempt to avoid the shot by running but McCoy isn’t too old or too proud to wrestle him into the corner. He sits on the Russian’s back as he preps and administer the shots. The rest of the bridge goes back to their work, very much used to their CMO’s actions.  

McCoy casually preps another hypo and surprises Sulu with a shot to the neck. Sulu opens his mouth to protest but McCoy says, “Don’t even. Seventeen lapsed vaccination. You are a public health hazard. I should report you to the CDC.” 

He finishes Sulu’s vaccinations and makes eye contact with his next victim, “Ensign Jordan. Or shall I say Ensign I-Don’t-Have-Time-For-Vaccinations-But-I-Do-Have-Time-To-Be-Dead.”

“At least pretend you’re not enjoying this Bones,” Kirk says, voice hoarse. 

McCoy snorts at Kirk, “Ms. Masters. Up to date on everything. Thank you for taking the health of yourself and everyone on this ship seriously.” 

McCoy was just about to move on when he notices the wonderful smell coming from Scotty’s covered mug. He picks it up and gives it a more meaningful sniff. “What is this?”

Scotty cannot even look him in the eye, “Hot chocolate.” 

McCoy saw red. No one listened to him. Why should they? He was just some slob with years of medical training. “Are you kidding me? Your blood glucose tests are off the charts and you -” 

“Don’t blame him,” Lieutenant Master interrupts, “I made it for him. The cooling unit in his room in broken and we were freezing all night.” 

McCoy pauses, “We?” 

“He,” she says quickly, obviously flustered, “He was cold all night. I went to check on him this morning and . . .” Charlene’s voice trails off as she realizes they have been found out.  

Leonard McCoy will never in a million years admit this but he is somewhat romantic and he’s always thought Master and Scotty were cute together. He suddenly feels like he is been too harsh. “Did you eat a donut this morning like you always do?” 

Scotty furiously shakes his head. He is bright red.  

“He didn’t,” Lieutenant Masters says, “He wasn’t hungry.” 

“Fine but you can only have one cup.” 

McCoy turns back to his list. He glances from Lieutenant Hawkins to Ensign Levy, enjoying the look of panic on both their faces when they notice his attention. He is ready to go in for the kill when an ear shattering static fills the bridge. Spock has fixed the communication station.  

Lieutenant Hawkins takes his position, two ensigns coming to stand behind him. They are his punishment, two inferior officers tasked with supervising his work since his incident with the Ferengi ship. Neither the Lieutenants nor the ensigns can believe what comes up on the screen. 

“Seventeen messages from Starfleet. Eight from other ships and three hundred and four emergency transmissions from New Vulcan, Captain.” 

“Call New Vulcan and put the transmission on the screen Ensign Leah. Hawkins, watch the Ensign do so without endangering the entire ship, if you can.” 

Hawkins pauses. No. Still not worthy being court martialed for disorderly conduct. He moves out of the way and replies through clenched teeth, “Yes Captain.” 

The face of Ambassador Sarek appeared before the bridge crew. Spock rose quickly from his station to stand by Kirk’s chair. Kirk reaches to touch his first officer’s shoulder before he addresses the Ambassador.  

“What’s happening Ambassador? Is it Lieutenant Uhura?”

“Affirmative,” Sarek’s eyes went to his son, “Her amniotic sac has ruptured and there is no course of action to take but to deliver her. She is in the early stages of accouchement and has asked for her husband. Would it be permissible for Commander Spock to come to New Vulcan and participate in the process? We have sent a a shuttle that will be arriving shortly.” 

“Of course!” Kirk says, an unexpected sense of panic creeping through him.   

“Captain,” Spock says, leaning over, “I do not have sanctioned paternity leave for another 17.2 days. Starfleet-”

“Are you serious, Spock?” Kirk says, “Oh shit, you’re serious.” 

“Captain -” 

“Spock, she will murder you.” 

“And I’ll help,” McCoy adds. He punctuates his statement by giving Hawkins a hypo. The lieutenant makes an inhuman noise.  

“Okay. I know. You have your thing about the rules,” Kirk nods, “But I know you want to be there for her. You can take the last four days of vacation time.” 

“Me too, Commander,” Chekov says, “You can have my last day.” 

“Yeah, give him three from mine too.” Sulu says. 

“Three from me too,” Scotty says. 

Bones sprints past the Captain’s chair, and with athleticism no one knew he had, tackles Ensign Levy to the ground, and with a hypo in each hand, gives him both shots at once. McCoy grins until he notices Kirk smiling at him, “Just take it. Take whatever makes me happy for your selfish purposes and-” 

“And that’s eighteen days.” Kirk says, jumping up and dragging Spock past Bones. “Let’s get you to your woman, Spock.” 

Spock pulls away and turns to the crew, but before he can even open his mouth, Scotty snaps, “No time for that nonsense. Go to your lass. Bring me back some Vulcan wine.” 

“Give her a kiss for me,” Charlene says. 

“Send pictures,” Sulu says. 

Bones mutters something under his breath but when he slaps Spock on the back, it feels more friendly than anything else.  

Unbeknownst to Spock, Kirk had packed a bag of clothing and toiletries for his CO to take with him, in case their current situation should occur. They go straight from the Captain’s quarters to the transportation room where there is a strange being waiting them. She appears to be female, has golden skin, hair, and eyes, and Spock has a small inclining she is very attractive to Captain Kirk. 

“Hello, I’m Nameha,” the woman takes Spock’s bag from Kirk’s hand, “I work for your sister-in-law. I need you to come with me.” 

“Okay,” Kirk blurts. He hasn’t been on a date and months and it’s showing. 

Nameha rolls her eyes and links arms with Spock, pulling him onto the transportation pad. She speaks to a small microphone on her jacket, “I’ve got him. Beams us over, Raf.” 

Back on her ship, there is a tall, red haired man inserting coordinates into the navigation system. Nameha pushes Spock into a passenger seat and buckles him in. She takes her seat and they are suddenly flying through space, the force of their speed pushing Spock against his seat. He finds himself clinging to the handles of his chair. 

“The Enterprise could get you to New Vulcan in eight hours. We’ll get you there is three,” the tall navigator tells him. 

“Less if we can get this ship going fast,” Nameha fiddles with some controls and Spock feels the skin on his face being pushed back as the ship’s speed increases. 

“Three hours is an acceptable travel time.”

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Perhaps it was the fact that he was fourteen hours into a thirty six hour call shift or maybe it was just his infertile imagination but when Makena Uhura had told Dr. M’Benga to look for a half human, half Klingon hybrid who was to deliver a package, M’Benga had not known what to envision and thereby not known what to expect. He hadn’t had time ponder. He had a patient with internal bleeding and another in need of intubation. 

Thusly, when the seven foot tall specimen arrived, flanked on either side by hospital security, Dr. M’Benga had been terrified. 

“Jabilo Geoffrey M’Benga?” the massive male asks. 

M’Benga, to his own immense shame, hesitates before answering, “That’s me.” 

The hybrid’s eyes scan M’Benga’s name on the doctor’s jacket, “May I see some identification?” 

M’Benga pulls out his identification badge, tensing his muscles to hide his shaking hands. The hybrid nods, unlocking the pair of handcuffs connecting his wrist to the package under his arm. The hybrid hands it to M’Benga and turns to leave.  

M’Benga scans the package, reading the specification on the label. He almost drops it in disbelief when he realizes what it is.  

Behind him, he hears Makena’s voice called out, “Hey Kor.” 

The hybrid turns, “Hello Boss.” 

“How does it look Dr. M’Benga?” Makena asks.  

“It’s perfect. It’s the right model, the right size. How did you?”

“Don’t ask. Come here Kor. Have some food.”

Dr. M’Benga gives himself a memo to get Makena’s information. Normally he can’t get an artificial organ for months and she did it in six hours. For now, he has triage prep.

 

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Suri Uhura softly clears her throat. Sitting across from her, Kamau’s cousins notice and glance over. Suri smiles, desperately hoping the meek gesture hides her mild displeasure.  

“Space travel makes me a little uncomfortable,” she lies.  

“You want us to get you something,” the cousin - Suri thinks her name might be Asha and his, Rashid - says “Sanaa Auntie has a small pharmacy in her purse.” 

“Nah,” Suri says, waving a hand, both to wave away the source of her discomfort and to uphold her lie, “I think I’ll just try and nap.” 

The cousins nods, accepting her lie, and turn back into each other.  

Suri’s husband Kamau who had previously been napping himself, is grinning at her now. 

“What?” Suri whispers, her tone much more severe than she would have liked, “Don’t pretend like I’m just being pretentious and you can’t smell anything.” 

“I don’t think you’re pretentious.” 

“Your family does.” She wasn’t usually this desperate and annoying. Really, she wasn’t. Her husband’s family made her this way. 

“They’re cliquey.” He admits. Suri rolls her eyes. He’s probably only giving this omission because early, when he tried to abandon her to converse with his cousins, she had dug her nails into his arm and seethed, “Don’t you dare leave me.” 

“You really don’t smell anything at all?”

“I don’t sweetheart,” Kamau rubs his eyes. He had just finished a full day of research and been giving a night lecture when his mother had burst into his classroom and told him about Nyota. He turns to his parents, “You guys smell anything?” 

His mother M'Umbha attempts to hush him but it’s too late. His father Alhamisi has already heard him. This is the wrong thing to say. 

“Unbelievable,” he says. He was mumbling something earlier and now Kamau realizes was saying that same word over and over. Alhamisi sees his wife and son looking, “She sends a garbage ship for us?”

“It’s not -” But Kamau has no evidence to against his father’s argument. The pilot had offered “Don’t worry. It’s not toxic,” in lieu of a greeting when they first arrived. Earlier they had been offered masks. And one of Makena’s employees is wearing what he can only assume is a biohazard suit.  

“I’m sure she sent what was closest. It doesn’t mean anything,” M’Umbha says, stroking her husband’s arm. 

Normally M’Umbha can soothe his easy ire but not in matters like this. Alhamisi shakes his head, “No. She wants to send me a message? She wants to embarrass me? We will have words.”

Kamau’s grandmother, Alhamisi’s mother Akua  pokes her grandson’s shoulder, saying simply, “Warn her.”

Kamau watches his father for a moment. He is well acquainted with familial situations like this one and he can tell the older man is getting angrier and angrier. He pulls out his phone and sends his sister a text message, “Caution: Dad’s pissed.” Naturally, it doesn’t go through.

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Makena accidentally grabs Sarek’s hand when she sees the ship landing on the spacedock. They are on the top floor, on the northernmost wing of the hospital and through the night sky, they can easily see the lights of landing and departing ships. It has been twenty hours since Nyota has been placed in stasis. Spock has still not arrived and they are both anxious.

“That’s them!” she whispers. She is smiling widely but through their temporary bond he can feel embarrassment, thick and so painful it makes him almost ill. He gently removes his hand from hers. She does not notice. 

“How are you able to identify a ship from its lights alone?” Sarek asks. The ships are indiscernible from this distance. 

“I just can. I know my ships,” Makena replies. Before he can stop her, she grabs him again and pulls him towards the hospitals transportation room. A Vulcan female is working the controls and it appears to be a large party.

“See?” Makena says, “There are twelve people in our party. Mama, Kamau, Suri, my two uncle, my aunt, my cousins, my grandmother, and my father.” 

A cold wave of panic runs through Sarek and he once again pulls away from Makena. “I apologize for doubting you.” 

She shrugs, “You’re not the first.” 

Makena is rocking back and forth on her heels as four persons materialize on the pad. She opens her arms for a hug but one figure is barking before he is completely materialized. 

“Am I trash to you Makena? After all I’ve done? Is that what that was about?” Sarek recognize Alhmisi from his son’s wedding. He stomps off the pad and towards his daughter but his son jumps in between them.  

“Hi baby,” Kamau says, pulling her into a hug. Makena does not return the embrace, sidestepping away as Kamau releases her, “What are you talking about?” 

“Your mother was almost sick and your grandmother is eighty years old. They shouldn’t have to deal with that,” Alhmisi says, moving around Kamau as well.  

“Was my ship that bad or was it just because it was mine that you found it awful?” 

“I’m fine. Grandma is too,” M’Uhmba says, tugging on her husband’s arm, “No more yelling, alright?” 

“No!” Makena snaps. She is running through the agenda on the ship she sent for them. She had thought they were picking up a specimen for researchers on Vulcanis but perhaps they moved the schedule around for convenience's sake and were transporting waste for disposal. Either way, she is angry now. “He wants to insult me. Let him insult me. It’s nostalgic. Tell me about how awful my hard working employees are or how crappy the top of the line ship I sent was.” 

“Once the Uhuras stood against the guns of warlords and demanded freedom. Forgive me if I refuse to recognize your efforts in crime and a garage disposal.”

“Wow. Well, I’ve been looking for something to put on business cards, so thanks a million for that,” Makena’s eyes dart to the pad. Four more of her relatives have arrived and the rest are materializing. They watch the exchange silently. Makena looks at them in turn, “Hello. I’m sorry your voyage was so unpleasant. It was my mistake,” Makena turns back to her father, “See that? That was acknowledgement.” 

Alhmisi’s mouth is flat and unyielding. Makena’s jaw tightens, her face blazing. She notices for the first time her father is wearing that stupid ‘Harvard Dad’ shirt Kamau bought him when he was in medical school. Her anger is quickly turning into something worse: sadness. If she cries in front of him, she will never live it down. “I forgot. You can’t acknowledge me. You only have one daughter.” 

She turns, intent on storming out when another figure appears on the pad. Her family rushes to gives him hugs and kisses as he passes through them but M’Umbha yanks Spock’s arm and pushes him towards the exit. “Go to my daughter!”

 

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“Captain Kirk packed me a meal. I was supplied with a dozen replicated crackers, two packs of expired applesauce, and a bottle of water. I assume his good intent nonetheless.” 

Uhura laughs. The pain of contractions is little more than an irritating pressure on her lower body but Spock still caresses the side of her face, sending her feelings of comfort. “Really? Is he moonlighting in the kitchens now?” 

“Not long after you left, he came to me and made it known that he would be supporting me during your leave. He did not ask for me for my opinion on the matter.”  

“Tell me about that,” Uhura says. Behind them, she hears that surgeons have finished prepping and her breathing increases. Spock presses his palm to her cheek. 

“He and Dr. McCoy have been quite insistent on inserting themselves into my spare time, with incrementally increasing thoroughness. Just recently Jim began insisting we partake in a ritual called a “sleepover”. The doctor was not amused but he seemed to have been in an agreement with Jim. ” 

Uhura smiles, “They took care of you, huh?” 

“I found their efforts maternal and unnecessary but nonetheless endearing,” he leans close, his tone low like a conspirator, “There is no comparison between you and Jim. Please refrain from sharing that fact. I do not wish to be sanctioned by Starfleet for mutiny.” 

Uhura tries to laugh but her eyes begin weep, very much against her will.  

His fingers ghost over her psionic points, waiting for her nod of consent, before he enters her mind fully.  

She sees Sulu, crossing the cafeteria to slam his tray down at Spock’s empty table, before burring his own nose in a book, the duo ignoring one another as they eat together. 

She sees Spock with Scotty and Chekov, having drinks and the night ending with Spock having to carrying the young ensign back to his room. 

She sees Christine, stopping him in the halls of the Enterprise, giving him words of encouragement and comfort.   

She sees Carol defending Spock from the nasty comments of two young ensigns, the doctor unaware the Vulcan is near. 

And Uhura, feeling the tangled emotions in his own mind, gives him memories of her time with Sarek, “I have been making a friend too.”  

Dr. M’Benga appears beyond the curtain covering her midsection, “Are you ready, Nyota?” 

I am not, she says to Spock through their bond.  

“Yes. Proceed.”

Dr. M’Benga and his team work silently. They move with such instinct and confidence that Nyota feels her anxiety is easily containable. 

Spock leans over her, stroking her face. The emotions flowing through the contact are so warm and comforting, she almost falls asleep. I missed you, my love. 

Instinctively, she was aware that only a few minutes had passed. Yet it felt, illogically as it were, as if hours had crept by. It was agonizing. She was completely helpless, able to stare at the ceiling and little else. 

“What is going on?” Nyota asks Spock. 

He glances over the curtain and then turns back to her, shaking his head. She can feel the surgery, the pressure of their tools and hands, and has a vague knowledge of what is probably happening. She doesn’t press him again for information. 

“You’re going to be a good father,” she assures him, “You always have been.”

It seems like the right thing to say but the moment she says it, his hand freezes over her face. New emotions surge through their contact before he can pull away. She quickly opens her mouth and then closes it. Now is not the time.  

“We got the first!” Dr. M’Benga says, “Don’t expect her to cry. C-section babies are not stimulated enough to outraged.” 

There is an unpleasant tug and Dr. M’Benga hands their firstborn to a nurse to be cleaned. The sound of her cries several seconds later, cutting and crystal clear in the silent room brings tears to her eyes. Spock stands to see her.  

“How is she?” 

He is visibly shaken as he sits down again, “Based on my research, she appears to be underweight. However, she is also, by my estimate, approximately 50.8 centimeters long. Factoring in her ability to scream loudly, I can conclude, she has well developed lungs.” 

But the nurse picks her up and is moving towards the door, saying only, “She requires an evaluation.”  

Nyota wants to protest but Spock touches her shoulder, “Let them proceed as they must. We will see her later.” 

Nyota nods, feeling another familiar tug. “You have a son,” Dr. M’Benga says, his eyes crinkling as he smiles behind his mask. 

“Where is he going?” Nyota asks as one of the doctor carries the bundle out of the room. The room is too quiet again, an air of tension settling around. “Is he alright?” 

“Of course. He looks fine but we’re going to give him a little oxygen.” Dr. M’Benga focuses on his work again and Nyota takes care not to disturb him.  

Finally there is one final pull. A strange noise, something much like a lost kitten meowing for its mother, fills the silent room. Dr. M’Benga gives her a reassuring look and then begins to make a move to the door.  

“Wait!” Nyota says, “Let me see her at least.” 

One of the Vulcan doctors protests but Dr. M’Benga brings their smallest baby over, holding her so that her cheeks touches Nyota’s. She has her father’s eyes. The baby quiets for a moment and Nyota whispers to her, “Hello, my sweet girl.” 

Spock reaches out and caresses one of her tiny bare feet. 

“I’ll take good care of her,” Dr. M’Benga promises. Then he and her are both gone. 

The remaining staff prep her for the afterbirth and mercifully, she is put under. 

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Kirk smiles at his monitor, unable to absorb a single fact or finding from the data currently on the screen. He received Spock’s message almost two hours ago.

His mind in on New Vulcan. He imagines that Spock recalls a calming event in Uhura’s ear as she labors. It’s probably the story of the first time they met. Kirk has never heard the story but in his head the tale is from their academy days, and Uhura is a plucky young student who comes in and calls Spock out on a mistake he made in lecture, and Spock looks up at her finally, and realizes he’s finally found the intelligent, beautiful, passionate woman he didn’t even know he was looking for.  

Or something like that. Kirk has barely thought about this, truthfully. 

Finally he can’t take it anymore. He promised he would wait but it is better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.  

Plus, he really wants to and that skews many a decision. 

“May I have your attention please. I have just received word from Lieutenant Uhura and Commander Spock on New Vulcan. In a short while, we will have three new crew members. . .” 

 

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	12. Chapter 12

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XII

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After his wife is sedated, the remaining medical staff insist Spock leave the operating room. Knowing that he is emotionally compromised and having the strong desire not to shame himself in front of strangers, he obliges easily.

He considers going to the waiting area to share company with the Uhuras. Yet for reasons he cannot fully comprehend, as he is approaching the room where Nyota’s family wait, he hears them talking in hushes tones, sharing words of worry and sadness, and cannot bring himself to enter. Instead he finds an empty corner in an empty corridor.

Doctors and nurses find him and give him news. Nyota has multiple postpartum complications brought on by the synthetic hormones, copper supplements and various other treatments she was given to support her hybrid pregnancy. He is informed of the location and well-being his oldest daughter. Nyota’s mother is called to donate specimen for a blood transfusion. Next he is made aware of his son’s circumstances. Dr. M’Benga completes his youngest daughter’s heart surgery and manage to find an ancient dialysis machine. Nyota is finally stabilized. 6.9 hours have passed since parturition.

Plagued by his own thoughts, Spock compiles detailed health reports. For his wife, he writes: “As anticipated, Nyota demonstrated physical signs that her body was responding poorly to the dramatic change in hormone levels immediately following childbirth. A list of the synthetic replacement hormones she was prescribed and pharmacological information on them is attached to this document. Nyota also appears to have reacted negatively to the anesthesia used during her cesarean section, a drug chosen for its benign influence on Vulcan-human hybrids. Unfortunately it is also known to occasionally have adverse effects on humans, as was evidenced by Nyota’s circumstances. Approximately 3.7 hours after accouchement, Nyota began developing symptoms of acute copper poisoning. At approximately 1:15, this morning, in order to counteract her symptomatic regurgitation, Nyota was given an antiemetic. She then appears to have had an allergic reaction to . . .”

He continues, ultimately filling 7.4 pages, which he then send to Dr. McCoy on the Enterprise for his records. As more information is given to him, he begins to compile similar report for his children.

Their firstborn daughter. Nyota liked to call her their Baby Alpha because she was always the largest during prenatal medical examinations.

Weight: 2.49 kilograms.

Height: 50.8 centimeters.

Born: Stardate 2271.58, 21:08 hours

Comments: She is small for a human infant but has exceptional proportions for her gestation. Dr. M’Benga arrived earlier and informed me that she has atypically good health in spite of her prematurity. He has stated she will likely be brought for viewing soon.

Their son, the middle child. Spock had made the mistake of turning to check on Nyota’s well-being and missed his opportunity to have a satisfactory look at him in the operating room. He is only able to confirm that the boy had thick, curly hair.

Weight: 2.40 kilograms

Height: 53.34 centimeters

Born: Stardate 2271.58, 21:09 hours

Comments: He requires supplemental oxygen and is having issues regulating his body temperature. He will be kept in confinement.

That is the Vulcan way. Unhealthy infants, when it is deemed medically necessary, are kept in almost complete isolation to prevent infections. Vulcan parent do not mind this as they usually have a strong mental connection to their children before birth and do not require close contact to bond. Nyota will not be given special treatment, despite having different expectations and requirements.

Their youngest daughter. He had reacted negatively to the news of her prognosis. He could only imagine the suffering Nyota had endured, waiting for news. However, when Spock had touched the child in the operating room, he had felt a spark of life, an unexpected but undeniable determination, to continue breathing, to survive.

Weight: 1.69 kilograms

Height: 43.18 centimeters

Born: Stardate 2271.58, 21:11 hours

Spock pauses, uncertain how to continue

Comments: Her surgery was successful although her prognosis at this time is uncertain. She is being closely monitors for organ rejection. She currently being treated for anemia and jaundice. She too in in confinement.

Spock stares at the communicator, reading his words repeatedly yet somehow unable to absorb their meaning, until the background light on the screen turns off.

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Sarek finds Spock in an empty corridor, three floors below Nyota’s hospital room. His son is leaning against a wall next to a door, breathing heavily.  Sarek opens his mouth to inquire on Spock’s well-being before he feels multiple foreign sensations: a tightness in his chest, a heat on his skin, a new exertion when he attempts to breath.

On the door, in dark writing: “Isolation Unit M.”

Sarek reaches out to touch Spock’s shoulder, both to steady himself and to notify him of his father’s presence. Spock looks at him, eyes inflamed, flesh trembling under Sarek’s palm. Both father and son strain their ears to hear the sounds emanating from within the room: a delicate hum of machines and the almost inaudible sounds of life.

Through the tip of his thumb, which is pressed to the patch of skin above Spock’s collar, Sarek feels confusion, physical pain, and guilt. He cannot discern which feelings are his son’s and which belong to his granddaughter, recovering from her cardiac surgery within the room they stand next to.

He can see her in his son’s mind. She is inconceivably tiny, producing a distressing sound as Dr. M’Benga holds her for her parents to see. Nyota’s face is wet with tears as she whispers sweet words to the child which sound much like a farewell.

You will always share her pain, in all its forms, he thinks so that Spock hears. Instantly, Sarek regrets the sentiment. The words are meaningless, almost too superficial to be worth articulating.

Dr. M’Benga and Dr. McCoy both acclaimed Nyota’s adherence to medical treatment. Additionally, the ailment was the result of inheriting my blood type. Therefore, her suffering is the immediate consequence of my genetic influences, Spock thinks, I am at fault.

You are not at fault. Her ailment is an improbable outcome, Sarek replies through their connection.

Spock finally meets his father’s gaze and there is anger in his stare. I do not desire any more of your trivial consolations.

He attempts to pull away from Sarek but his father’s grip on his shoulder tightens to prevent his movements. Spock’s jaw clenches and lifts a hand to forcibly extricate his father’s grip. At the last moment, Spock’s pauses and his hands returns to his side, relenting to the older Vulcan’s presence without any further protest.

They remain in the hall for a significant amount of time, silent in both their words and in their minds, both more attentive on the life inside the isolation room to converse further.

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The first time Nyota awakens, there is no obvious pain, only a general awareness of her left arm and the intravenous devices inserted across the limb. The one on Nyota’s hand is feeding a clear fluid into her veins. The other is full of a warm, dark red substance. Blood?

“On average, women lose at least a liter of blood during childbirth, even more during a c-section. Don’t be afraid if you wake up with a blood transfusion going on.” Dr. M’Benga had told her as they wheeled her into the operating room. He had given her several pieces of advice as they prepped her for surgery.

The hurt comes when she makes an unproductive attempt at sitting up. A line of stitches on her lower abdomen are tugged on by the action, sending a searing pain through her body. Blood rushes to Nyota’s head and she is certain she will pass out. She relaxes. The room slowly stops spinning, the pain fades to a duller ache, and her heart rate falls.

Next, she notices an oxygen tube against her nose, forcing air into her nostrils. Her skin, especially the surface of her lips, is numb and painfully dry. She tries to move her feet and hands but fails miserably. It feels as though someone encased her entire body in lead.

Her eyes burn as she opens them fully, a thick crust clinging to her eyelashes. Everything is covered in a haze, even after several blinks. Her head is facing right, she can tell by the bright light pouring from the window. There is no one with her from this angle.

She tries to twist her head but the gesture sends a bolt of pain down her neck. Nausea fills her skull and she squeaks.

Nyota hears the rude noise of a chair being pushed back and someone taking her hand, cradling it gently, careful of her IVs. A warm mouth kisses her deathly cold knuckles.  A voice chokes, “My sweet girl.”

It is her mother. Nyota clenches her fingers to reassuring squeeze her hand but her fingers barely move. Something crinkles against a plastic cup next to Nyota’s ear. Ice. She opens her mouth as best she can and her mother presses a few chips past her lips. They are blissfully cool on her cracked mouth. The ice grows lukewarm on her tongue and Nyota swallows the hydration.

M’Umbha puts the cup down and strokes her daughter’s hair until Nyota falls asleep again, her mind too foggy to maintain wakefulness.

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The second time Nyota awakens, a few hours or minutes later. Her mother is still nearby but fast asleep with her head on the table across the room. Nyota’s grandmother is resting on the couch. Something is pressed against her hand. It’s Makena, resting her head on the mattress. Nyota touches her sister’s hair and the younger woman’s eyes open. Nyota gives her a weak smile, a silent word of thanks on her mouth but Makena just rolls her eyes at this before turning into the mattress to fall into slumber again.

Nyota looks around the room. She is still attached to several machines but it sounds like there are fewer now than before. Her mind is quiet and she wonders where Spock and Sarek and the rest of her family is. But she is still tired and the thoughts don’t plague her for too long.

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The third time Nyota awakens, Uncle Rai, Uncle Behr, her father, and Kamau are in the room.

“Biutral! They actually gave her biutral as an anesthetic.” Uncle Rai snaps, “Look at these blood pressure readings!” He waves her medical file around, “I want to speak to the chief of surgery.”

“You do that,” her father says, watching her monitors, “When they throw you out, don’t tell them you came with us.”

Uncle Behr snorts. Kamau, who is leaning on his hands next to her, covering his mouth to hide his amusement, sees her open eyes. Like Uncle Rai and Alhamisi, and Nyota’s cousins Asha and Rashid, Kamau is a physician. Unlike the rest of the family, Kamau tires of talking about his job. Nyota likes talking about medicine even less. Normally, Nyota would excuse herself. Since she can’t move, she simply closes her eyes again.

“What are you looking at Kamau? Did she wake up?” Uncle Rai asks, “I want to examine her stitches.”

But Kamau, her hero, swiftly says, “Nope. Still asleep.”

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The fourth time Nyota awakens, her cousins Nuru, Asha, and Rashid are with her, along with Kamau’s wife Suri and Nyota’s Aunt Sanaa.

“Beautiful. Just absolutely beautiful,” Aunt Sanaa says. She is massaging warm oil into Nyota’s palm, which is almost putting her niece back to sleep, “Your doctor let us see her through the nursery window. She’s absolutely precious.”

“Her hair sticks straight up, Nyota,” Suri says, putting another spoonful of applesauce to her mouth for her to eat, “It’s really cute.”

“Your son is doing well too,” Nuru says, “He stabilized overnight. He still has the oxygen but Dr. M’Benga thinks he’ll be fine.”

“But they hid him away. We’re not allowed to see him. Can you believe that? I don’t care what they say, Vulcans are barbaric,” Aunt Sanaa says.

The room goes silent. Finally Nyota asks, “And my little daughter?”

“We haven’t seen her,” Asha says at the same time that Rashid says, “Not well but don’t worry.”

Her relatives fall silent again. Finally Nuru says, “She has a fever. Dr. M’Benga isn’t sure if anything is wrong yet so he says we just have to wait and see.”

Suri pokes the side of her mouth with another mouthful of applesauce but Nyota doesn’t want anymore. Aunt Sanaa finishes massaging her hands and gestures towards Nyota’s chest, “Should I have them bring a pump for your milk?”

“No,” Nyota says, firmly. Nyota doesn’t have the heart to tell her she wouldn’t be breastfeeding; she can’t supply the right nutrition for the job. She is useless to her children.

Asha and Rashid begin playing cards. Suri finishes the rest of the applesauce. Nuru begins ranting endlessly about her dissertation for her doctorate in Neurological Engineering which only Aunt Sanaa politely nods in response to. Eventually, Nyota pretends to fall asleep again.

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The fifth time Nyota awakens, it is nighttime. The lights in the hall have gone out and it is incredibly quiet except for the intermittent beep of her machines. Spock is meditating in the corner. Sarek is reading, next to her. When he notices her, her father-in-law puts his book down and waits for her speak.

“I don’t think I can handle it if she dies,” Nyota says.

Nyota feels Spock in her mind. He is surprised at the strange new intimacy that has evolved between his wife and father. Briefly she feels what is either jealousy or sadness.

“She is receiving superlative care.” Sarek says. He doesn’t tell her not to worry, as if that is actually something she can do. Nor does her remind her the matter is out of her hands. He does not try to preach or rationalize or give advice. He simply waits with her and for that she is more grateful than she can possibly say.

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The sixth time Nyota awakens, one of her babies is in the room.

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His oldest granddaughter has ten well-formed fingers, each capped with an exceptionally small, smooth nail. Sarek vividly remembers Amanda obsessively counting Spock’s digits in the days following his birth. She was firmly convinced that the fact that he possessed the correct amount was evidence of something, although Sarek had never understood what it could possibly be a sign of.

Amanda also performed copious examinations on Spock’s toes. Sarek could not do this however: his granddaughter was wearing a garment that encased all but her head. Thus, he had to content himself with examining her face, which features her mother’s high forehead, long nose, silky brown skin, and delicate chin. Above her bulbous cheeks, he can see the beginnings of familiar high cheekbones.

“Usually I like to take a little credit for my patient’s success. It’s essential for my sanity. But I can’t take any credit for this little’s one’s good health,” Dr. M’Benga says, stroking the infant’s smooth hair, “That was more of Mom and that Dr. McCoy’s doing.”

Nyota’s family is crowding around Dr. M’Benga as he speaks but he appears unaware.

“I did almost nothing for her in the nursery. She had vitals so good I almost cried with joy when I saw them and, if I’m being honest with you, I’m probably going to keep a record of her blood results for times when I need a boost.”

Dr. M’Benga smiles down at the baby and she stares back at him with a critical look, an interesting expression for a three day old child. One of Nyota’s cousins, Nuru, makes an strange noise at this and moves closer behind Dr. M’Benga. The rest of the family follows suit. Dr. M’Benga looks up when he feels Uncle Behr’s form touching his back but he is still ignorant of what is likely about to occur. Sarek, however, is not so naive and takes a step back to stand with his son in the corner.

“So,” Dr. M’Benga continues, “She lost a little weight. Almost all babies do. They’re mostly water when they’re born but if she keeps gaining weight like she is, I think she can go home with dad. Maybe even within the week!”

Now, several hands are reaching out, to touch her small feet and have her hands clutch fingers. Dr. M’Benga’s eyes follow these new movements and widen. Suddenly nervous, he tries to press his way back but he is blocked.

“And I spoke to my partner and he agrees she can be kept in here so if you want to hold her -”

In an instant, someone has picked up the infant and Uncle Rai pushes the doctor out of the way to get a better look. Dr. M’Benga isn’t mad. In fact, he can’t stop smiling. The relatives fuss over the baby, showing her to her mother and father, adjusting the dark green suit she is wearing, giving her kisses and hugs.

Dr. M’Benga moves around the perimeter of the room until he is at Nyota’s side. She is much too ashen and when he squeezes her hand, she can barely return the gesture. Still, she has improved greatly in the past few days. He pulls out a stethoscope as he says, “She’s a lucky girl.”

“She is.”

“And how are you? Your Kayser–Fleischer rings are looking better. Copper levels dropping. Looking much better.”

“You don’t have to lie. I was worried I looked awful earlier,” Nyota says, “But then I thought: I expelled three beings from my person. I’ll look how I want to look. Thanks.”

“Good. I like that.”

“I’m thinking for putting it on the birth announcements.”

Dr. M’Benga chuckles as he writes her vitals into the PADD.

Nyota struggle but can’t pull herself up. She falls back sighing, “Can you prop me up? I want to hold her.”

He grabs several pillows and arranges her arms. Then he snatches the baby from her grandmother and rests her on Nyota’s chest. M’Umbha protests but grudgingly smiles at her daughter.

The infants squirms for a moment and then rests her head over Nyota’s heart, eyes drooping as the rhythm slowly puts her to sleep. Now, even Dr. M’Benga has to stop himself from squealing. The infant’s chubby cheeks, pressed against Nyota, are squished.

He shakes his head at his own absurdity. He has to leave or he will go crazy.

“She looks just like you, Makena, and Alhamisi,” Uncle Rai says, reaching across Nyota to gently pinch the baby’s cheeks, “But she has Spock’s. . .” Uncle Rai pauses, scanning her feature for something which was inherited from Spock.

He is silent for several minutes before Nyota finally speaks, “She’s a Mama’s girl.”

Nyota feels a swell of pride as she notes her child’s familiar traits but she is also somewhat sad. She doesn’t have Spock’s eyebrows or his ears. Suhayl didn’t have both either.

“Yes,” Uncle Rai says, relieved she alleviated the awkwardness, “Oh, your firstborn!”

Makena’s eyes flash towards Nyota, a knowing expression on her younger sister’s face. Sarek glances over as well.

I had a son, Nyota think and Sarek nods in affirmation when she shares this thought through their bond, I had a daughter. They were my babies too.

Her vocal cords are tight so Nyota simply nods, pressing her lips into her newborn’s hair to hid the expression on her mouth.

“Finally, right?” Aunt Sanaa says.

Makena jumps to her feet so fast her chair makes a small dent in the wall, “Hey, how about I buy everyone lunch. Give Nyota and Spock some time with the little one?”

“Sounds good!” Uncle Behr says, pulling Alhamisi and Uncle Rai to their feet. He throws one arm around each of his brothers and says, “Doesn’t it make you happy when the kids pay for things?”

“You know it does,” Kamau says, pulling Makena’s hair as she walks past.

“You know what would be good too? If we went somewhere cheap,” Makena says, helping her grandmother to her feet. The family laughs at this but Makena adds, her tone a little desperate, “I’m serious.” Makena glares at Nyota, mouthing the words, ‘You owe me.’

Sarek follows them, lingering for a moment before he closes the door and Nyota and Spock are alone with their daughter. Spock moves closer to sit by Nyota’s bed.

“Your Uncle was correct in his assertion that she strongly physically resembles you,” Spock states, “You share many phenotypes.”

“And what did you think of his second assertion?” Nyota asks. He didn’t even glance at her when Uncle Rai or Aunt Sanaa were talking.

Spock’s eyebrows knit, “To what statement are you referring?”

“He said she was our firstborn.” She can hear the traces of anger in her voice and judging by the slight dilation of his eyes, he hears it too. However, if the crinkle on the sides of his mouth are any indication, he doesn’t understand why.

“She was born approximately 1.2 and 3.6 minutes prior to her siblings. Therefore, his statement was correct.”

Now Nyota feels like she was being oversensitive and that just makes her more annoyed. “And my Aunt? ‘Finally.’ What does that even mean?”

“I am fairly confident is was merely a colloquialism refering the 10.4 years between their birth and our marriage.”

He is defending them. They are not even in the room and he agrees with them.

“What is causing your current vexation?” Spock asks. Their bond is silent, like it all too often is when she wants to discuss this topic.

“How did you just,” she shakes her head, hoping to stop but the impulse too great, “forget them?” Before he can respond, she continues, “If I hadn’t gone on that mission, she would be almost ten, asking to hold her little sister or feed her a bottle, and he would be seven and he might be jealous but you don’t think about any of that because you just swept them from your mind, didn’t you?”

The baby on her chest yawns, oblivious to her mother’s despair. Spock opens his mouth to speak but Nyota interrupts him again, “And what will you do if our youngest daughter dies? Will we just fly off into space, tell everyone we have twins, and never mention her again? I can’t do that. Not again.”

She turns her head away from him, breathing hard to prevent tears from falling.

“Is this why you found comfort in my father’s presence last night above mine?” Spock asks.

“We understand each other,” Nyota says, “Like you and I used to understand each other.”

She and Spock have grown apart, Nyota realizes. He could compartmentalize things which she never could. Perhaps she knew this fact for some time. Admitting to it, however, is not cathartic in anyway.

Spock stands and picks up their daughter. He holds her for a minute, close to his chest, before he places her in the bassinet Dr. M’Benga left behind. Then he leaves without another word. Guilt is swelling painfully in Nyota’s stomach but she does not stop him. Nyota is left alone with her tears and the child she desperately wishes she could look at without feeling the need to mourn.

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“. . . Rhea finished the application yesterday but this morning they told her there was a spelling error and she needed to fill it out again. So, they resubmitted but Jade tells me Rhea yelled at the inspector, which I completely believe, so I think they’re going to wait longer this time.”

“But how long?” Makena asks, “They’ve been there five days.”

“Counting prep and travel time, twenty seven hours,” Perris replies, crunching on something into the earpiece. She’s one of those people who take the phone with her to the bathroom, outside, everywhere. She’s probably having breakfast.

Makena sighs. There was a reason she didn’t bank on the crew getting the artificial heart out of the shipping depot. Still, she wants it on New Vulcan as soon as possible, just in case the baby needs it. “That’s fine I guess.”

“Anything else you want to talk about?”

For the last few days, Makena has been able to keep herself together. Somehow that single statement pulls her apart and she tells Perris everything, from how hard she tried to bring her family to New Vulcan right up to the screaming match on the transporter pad she had with her father, whom she’s currently avoiding.

Perris swallows hard on her end, “I was actually hoping to talk about the loan we got for the ship repairs I want.”

This only inspires Makena to start babbling about Nyota and how insensitive her family is being and how worried she is about her nephew and nieces.

“Having a hard time?” Perris says when Makena stops to breath.

“I try too hard. That’s my problem,” Makena says, ignoring Perris’ statement, “When I was an idiotic teenager and I didn’t care about anything, I was so happy. I’m going to try and be more idiotic.”

“You don’t need to try and be idiotic,” Perris says.

“I’m hanging up,” Makena says.

“No don’t. I’ll be nice,” Perris says, “I mean, I’m sure it will all work out with the kids. And I’m sure it sucked being yelled at in front of stranger but - ”

“Not strangers! My own family!” Makena snaps, “All those stupid perfect doctors with their stupid advanced degrees and their stupid impressive prestige.”

“I know,” Perris says. But Makena isn’t sure she does know, “If it helps, I think you’re awesome.”

“So, you’ll come to New Vulcan and support me?”

“Oh, hell no. The only person your father hates more than you in the universe is me. Besides, you said you wanted to avoid strife.”

Makena agrees with that statement, thoroughly. Ten years prior, as Makena and Perris recall, Makena and Perris moved off planet to start new lives on Mars. Alhmisi Uhura, however, would remember that same event differently: Perris seduced Makena and kidnapped his naive young daughter away to another planet.

“I’m always there for you,” Makena says, “Like that time those Orions gave you that ‘special beer’ and I had to carry you twelve blocks.”

“Yup,” Perris says, vacantly.

“And Krakau! I saved your ass in Krakau! You almost died in Krakau.”

“Sure,” Perris says.

“And how many times have I defended you when you messed up in front of the crew?”

“Most definitely,” Perris says. On the other end, Makena hears a hiss of gas then a hum.

“You’re not even listening to me. What are you doing?” Makena asks.

“Welding,” Perris says, her voice muffled by a mask, “The door on the Machiavellian is loose.”

“You’re welding the door of a spaceship shut?”

“Absolutely. This ship already cost us a fortune in repairs. I’m not paying a hundred credits to replace the screw.”

“How do you plan to get on the ship if the doors don’t open?”

Perris pauses, “Can’t we just jump through the overhead window like the Duke cousins did? I think it comes off.”

“So you’re going to remove a window?”

“Yes,” Perris says, annoyed, “But you can put it back on.”

“The airlock windows?”

“Uhuh.”

“On a spaceship? Do you have any idea what a vacuum in outer space does to the human body? Probably to any species’ body? If you don’t put it back on properly every time -”

“Fine,” Makena hears a click on the other end of the earpiece; Perris has turned off the welding torch, “You’re better at mechanical things than I am. Alright? I need you to hurry up and get back here so I can criticize everything you do.”

“Clearly.” Makena strains her ears. Perris is clanging on something, “You already welded the back doors didn’t you?”

“Shut up!” Perris snaps, hanging up.

Makena sends a text message to her secretary X’Jaya, begging him to go the hangar and prevent Perris from destroying the oldest ship in their fleet. In some ways, it’s nice being on vacation with Nyota and the others. Mostly though, she’s terrified of her employees. She trusts them, somewhat. Or more truthfully, she trusts Kor, X’Jaya, Thrange, and even Perris, to a point, because they can occasionally be counted on to avert disasters. (Perris is a better business partner than she is a mechanic). But it only takes one person making one mistake to ruin everything.

Makena knows. She still able to recall the time Jade mistook a canister of hydrocarbons for compressed oxygen. Makena’s eyebrows only just grew back. She is rubbing the ridge above her eyes, where the hair is still rather thin when she notices Kamau, leaning against the wall, grinning at her.

“What?”

His face distorts into an ugly, fake smile. Kamau would make that same face when they were kids right before he would mess up her hair or lock her in a closet. “Nothing. It just makes me all warm and fuzzy seeing you all grown up. My big girl. Sunrise, sunset,” he walks towards her, arms open for a hug, “Come here.”

“No,” Makena says, flatly, “Get away from me, you freak.”

She feints but he’s been annoying her too long to fall for it. He lunges, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, tight like a snake around its prey, and falls over her. He’s taller than her and when he lays his head on her shoulder and shifts his weight on her, she is pinned in place.

“Get off,” she snaps.

“No,” he says.

“Now!” she seethes.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“You’re thirty-three years old. You have a wife. You’re a doctor. Why are you still like this?!”

“Because you’re my baby sister,” he says, bending his knees so she has to grasp at the walls. An orderly passes and Kamau gives him a grin, which disgusts the Vulcan, naturally, “What? You don’t want me to hug you?”

“Stop stop stop stop stop!” Makena yelps.

He stands up, still making that stupid face. He hasn’t stopped bothering her since he arrived. When he’s not with her, he’s sending her texts, calling, and smoke signaling.

“What are you doing up here anyway?” Kamau asks, poking her cheek.

Makena fumes, “Can you keep a secret?”

“What kind of secret?” Kamau asks, wrinkling his nose and crossing his eyes at her.

“I know where we can find a dead body.” Makena says.

“I’m not falling for that twice,” Kamau says.

“Okay,” Makena says, straightening her clothes, “I guess you don’t want to see something super cool.”

It works every time. Kamau protests a little but when she starts walking away, he follows.

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“Do these individuals belong with your party?”

M’Umbha swallows heavily on her tea - a lovely chai her sister-in-law Sanaa grabbed from her house when they arrived to take her, her husband Rai, and her twins Asha and Rashid to the shuttle port - and contemplates the faces of her two youngest children. Kamau is pointedly avoiding her eyes and Makena is smiling much too much to be innocent. It is good tea, comforting and tasteful, and it gives her an opportunity to think as she has to dry her mouth and carefully put her cup on the table before she can respond to the security guard who had brought her son and daughter to her.

“I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

“M’Umbha!” Sanaa protests, “They are her children.”

“Procedure dictates we remove those who enter restricted areas without proper clearance from the hospital grounds but Dr. M’Benga insists they be allowed to remain here. In spite of that, I must insist they be monitored.”

“Of course,” M’Umbha says. She gives Kamau and Makena a look and they immediately sit down. The minute the guard is out of earshot, she says, “You know people always pitied me because I often couldn’t control my own children. You were wild but even your worst I always thought, they’ll grow out of it. Lo and behold. It’s not a phase; it’s your personalities. You enjoy making me suffer.”

“If I may,” Kamau says, “This is all Makena’s fault.”

“Own your action, Kamau,” M’Umbha says, “You were both wrong.”

Makena rolls her eyes, leaning back to put her PADD next to Nyota before M’Umbha can turn her attention away from Kamau.

Nyota glances at the screen. On the PADD is a picture of an infant with dark brown eyes and upright curly hair. She studies it for a moment, “Who is this?”

“Your baby boy,” Makena says, turning to smile at her, “I heard one of the nurses talking and she said they were moving him out of the intensive care unit so we followed.”

“Let me see,” M’Umbha says. Aunt Sanaa comes to look over her shoulder. Nyota watches their expressions, wishing she could preserve the sweet smile on her mother’s face forever.

“That one looks like you too,” Uncle Rai says when they pass the PADD to him, “Same nose. Same mouth. Same skin. Lucky Spock gets to be surrounded by Uhura beauty, huh?”

Nyota holds her hand out for the PADD, wanting to stare at the image forever. Uncle Rai is right. This is definitely her boy. Curved eyebrows, she thinks sadly, curved ears too.

He had a line for oxygen though. Plus his blanket was glowing, which couldn't be normal. In the bassinet next to her, Nyota hears his sister fuss. Aunt Sanaa is at the infant’s side in a heartbeat to soothe her.

“He’ll be with you again soon, Nyota,” Makena says.

Nyota traces her son’s chin on his picture.

Her boy.

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He had barely slept or eaten and the last twelve hours had been one trying case after another. He couldn’t deny it any longer: he was feeling a little stressed.

“Perhaps this is maladaptive,” Dr. M’Benga thinks as he devours three more cookies at once. Couldn’t be helped. He had missed his lunch break because a patient had had an allergic reaction to some antibiotics. He’d forgotten to pack a lunch and disliked the cafeteria food. And if he was being honest with himself, he would admit he was still shook up over the death of one of his elderly patients, a sweet grandmother with Bendii syndrome who he had stupidly allowed himself to grow fond of.

So, it made sense, somewhat, to be eating the entire box of his favorite cookies that his father had made and sent him, in an deserted hallway.

It was his pattern after all. When he was 11 and attending boarding school, the night after he had failed an advanced calculus test, he had cleared out the communal fridge in his dorm. The morning after, the residential advisor gave him an educational pamphlet on binge eating.

“It’s fine,” he assures himself. The last time he had been overwhelmed like this, he had eaten two pounds of grapes. It balanced out, even if the very fact he thought this would no doubt break his nutrition professor’s heart. He tosses the empty box of cookies in a trash can, suddenly craving grapes. No one knew where he was and his next appointment wasn’t for another 31 minutes. Perhaps he would take a nap. He knew one of the lounges nearby was being painted. It was the middle of the night so there would be no workers there now. It would be quiet. So very quiet.

Rubbing crumbs off his mouth, he thinks, “Fantasizing about an empty room. This is what I’ve been reduced to.”

He is turning towards the direction of the lounge when his pager goes off. He instinctively pushes the call-back button. The nurse on the other end doesn’t mince words, “Patient 6890 requires your attention. It is not urgent.” Then she hangs up without another word.

He recognizes the number. The littlest triplet.

“She had mild arrhythmias intermittently,” the nurse says when he arrives. She quickly brings him scrubs and helps him dress. Then she pushes him through the sanitizer, a humming machine which lights up as he passes through, raising the hairs on his skin as it kills dangerous microbes and pathogens on his skin. He enters the isolation unit.

It is always unsettling how quiet it is. There is a clear temperature-controlled therapeutic dome over the infant and when he unlatches it, he finds she is making a strange noise, much like a small cat searching for its mother.

Her skin, which was pasty and yellow earlier, is less pasty and yellow now. Her heavy metal bloods levels are a little lower too. The heart monitor, however, as he reads the old findings does indicate abnormal heart beats.

Dr. M’Benga checks the heart monitor pads and then machine. Both are functional properly. He can see the artificial heart working too. Her chest is still open, a clear covering allowing him to view the titanium and plastic heart at work. He watches it for a moment fascinated by the false organ. It seems to be working fine.

He glances at her temperature reading. High but he can’t be sure yet whether that is normal for her as a hybrid or not yet.

She squeaks and he looks down at her. Dr. M’Benga glances behind him. The nurse isn’t watching. He quickly repeats the alphabet backwards to clear his head of extraneous thoughts and cups his hands around her head and back. She relaxes at his touch. If a simple touch helps newborn humans, it might help a newborn hybrid.

“You just want a little attention, don’t you kitten?” Dr. M’Benga pulls a chair close with his foot. He has twenty three more minutes until his next appointment. The empty lounge can wait.

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	13. Chapter 13

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XIII

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The support band wrapped tightly around her ribcage goes taunt when Nyota stumbles. Her father has a firm grip on the back of the band where it loops to form a handle but she still slips, knocking one knee painfully on the hard floor. Alhamisi lets her catch her breath then pulls on the handle to help her to her feet.

"You're still very unsteady on your feet," Alhamisi notes.

"Should we stop?" Nyota asks.

"If you feel you have to," Alhamisi says

Nyota thinks about it for a moment but shakes her head. Even if it's only a two hundred step walk around the perimeter of the unit, it much more than that to her. She is not going back to the Enterprise with a half healed surgical incision and absolutely no muscle tone.

"I'm like a puppy," Nyota says, as they shuffle slowly around a corner and back towards her room, "wearing one of those special collars around their bodies so they don't choke themselves."

"How does your cut feel?" Alhamisi asks.

"Awful," Nyota says, "But it hurts when I'm laying down too."

"The exercise will help," Alhamisi says, "Stand up straight. Even your grandmother doesn't slouch like that."

Nyota takes a deep breath and obeys his instruction. The new posture, as expected, pulls on her stitches, sucking the breath out of her lungs. Only a few more steps, she tells herself, then she can rest.

The band goes slack as her father lightens his grip. He wants her to support herself. She is panting with exertion but if he doesn't pity her, she will not pity herself.

Her vision is red by the time she reaches out for the doorframe to her room. Nyota grabs the frame just as a Vulcan nurse exits. The nurse scans Nyota's form before saying, "Adequate."

Nyota, as she leans on the doorframe catching her breath, nods at the nurse, "Thank you."

M'Umbha exits the room soon after, carrying a massive box of bedding, clothes, and other baby items, followed closely by Spock, who is holding his luggage and a baby carrier.

"Did you sign her out already?" Nyota asks, suddenly interested in the design of the floor tiles.

"We did," M'Umbha says, the box shifting awkwardly in her arms. She moves around Nyota so she can put the box in the hallway. Spock follows suit with his bags.

Nyota clutches the wall for support until she is close enough to gracelessly drop herself into a chair by her bed. She pulls the bassinet containing her oldest daughter close. The baby is asleep in a soft green jumper, her tiny hands splayed on either side of her head. Nyota listens to her daughter sleeping, each deep, full breath emanating in her round belly before it passes softly through her small, birdlike mouth.

Before she can stop herself, Nyota reaches and picks her up. Holding her child hurts, as her arms and the baby's body press against her healing navel, but she ignores the pain. The infant groans in her sleep but doesn't wake up.

Nyota feels someone standing behind them but doesn't look away from her daughter's face.

"Your mother wishes to eat dinner at exactly 19:00 in the company of your relative at the home my father arranged for them. The journey requires approximately 37.8 minutes of travel. Therefore we must leave now," Spock says.

Nyota looks at him. His eyes are as vacant as his face and she quickly returns the expression. "Of course."

He reaches out for their daughter. Without thinking, Nyota turns slightly to prevent him. He sighs through his nose, waiting. Nyota counts to a twenty in Orion to compose herself. Then she touches her forehead to her daughter's, kisses her baby girl's soft cheeks, and then gives her to Spock.

Spock moves to begin loading the baby into the carrier. M'Umbha, who was standing back during her daughter and son-in-law's previous interaction, comes forward to watch his work, helping him as needed. When the task is finished, M'Umbha descends on Nyota, kissing her daughter's cheeks and forehead. "I love you."

This makes Nyota's eyes soften, "I love you too."

Her mother pulls her close, whispering in her ear, "I'll take care of both of them."

"I know," Nyota whispers back. M'Umbha strokes her daughter's hair and begins moving towards the hallway where Spock is waiting with the baby.

Her husband departs without another word but her mother glances back her, smiling. Nyota feels her hand fisting on their own accord. Alhamisi is still nearby, so Nyota takes a deep breath and forces a smile for her mother.

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Spock awakes to this daughter squawking. He waits. Based on previous incidences occurring in the last three days, he has noticed there is a 14.7% chance she will fall asleep again. Her bed is beneath the window and he is able to observe her, analyzing her behavior for future use. From the glow of moonlight on her face, he can ascertain that her eyes are open and she is smiling at the ceiling, her limbs writhing. The blanket he had so dutifully wrapped her in is a bundle at her feet.

She is an alert baby. Her tendency to be kinetic is strong indicator that she will experience early locomotion in the future. Presently, however, her abundance of energy at such an hour is a poor indicator that she will return to sleep. Still, hopeful from inexperience, Spock closes his eyes.

Immediately, she begins wailing.

Before Spock can even pull himself from bed, something large charges across the floor, bumping into the bed post before stopping by the crib. It's Zorat, his father's sehlat. The beast is particularly interested in the baby and is never far. It stands on its hind legs, leaning over the side of the crib to look at her and explore her with its nose. The sehlat turns to him, whimpering in sympathy pain.

Spock pushes Zorat away gently and picks his daughter up. Instinctively, he knows it is 03:17 hours. She is more than likely hungry. Spock gives her a pacifier so not to awaken anyone in the house and makes his way to the kitchen, Zorat stepping on his heels, the sehlat's sniffing nose pressed firmly against his buttock.

He moves through the dark house, the only sound being Zorat's nails on tile floor. Nyota's parents, grandmother, aunt, and uncles along with Sarek are sleeping in rooms on the upper floor but her cousins and siblings have taken over the living room. He could hear them whispering through the walls earlier but when he glances at them in passing, they are asleep, Makena, Nuru, and Sanaa pressed together on one mattress, Rashid on another, and Kamau and Suri are on the couch.

Most newborns, according to Spock's research, eat eight to twelve times a day. In the last twenty four hours, his child has demanded and finished fifteen bottles, approximately 120% of what Dr. M'Benga approximated she would intake. As he prepares a sixteenth bottle for her, he recalls the advice his mother-in-law gave him earlier before she went to bed, "She's not stupid. She'll let you know if she needs something."

However, when he takes her pacifier and presses the tip of the bottle to the side of her mouth, she turns away. Spock checks her diaper. She is clean and dry. He attempts to give her the bottle once more but she rejects it again. Then he gives her the pacifier again but this time, instead of sucking on it rhythmically, as she had so happily been doing, she spits it out and begins wailing. Zorat begins licking her foot.

Immediately, he puts away the prepared bottle and moves towards the sitting room, which is relatively isolated. He closes the door before Zorat can follow, leaving the sehlat to whine into the paneling. Thinking she needs to eruct, he places her body against his shoulder to clap her back and assist in the process. She quiets, enjoying the motion. Several minutes pass with no gas expulsion.

Eventually, Spock finds himself sitting on the floor, with her laying across his lap. He watches her, perplexed. She stares back in his general direction, grumbling threateningly. He touches her face, joining their minds. Her thoughts are pandemonium, too vague and ephemeral to be useful to him. Still, he is comforted knowing there is no pain there.

He does, however, note a particularly interesting segue of sensations that rise above the others. She is recalling a warm, safe place, with two beings comfortingly close and a familiar voice surrounding. Spock pulls away his hand to separate their minds. He shifts her, so that she is cradled snugly against his chest, hoping the sensation will be familiar enough to satisfy her. She whines. He touches her hand, sending her pleasant thoughts. Through the physical bond, he can ascertain that she senses there is something wrong with the situations, as if his scent is not quite right or his touch is too foreign but after some time has passed, she stops fussing. She slowly becomes content.

Now, he is trapped though. He is beginning to contemplate the benefits and detriments of staying in the sitting room, in the same position, until morning when M'Umbha, who is much more skilled with the baby than he is, will awaken when he hears someone coming down the stairs.

"She enjoys the sound of a heartbeat," Spock says to his father.

"You did as well," Sarek replies.

"I apologize if we woke you."

"Zorat woke me. She was scratching my door," Sarek moves close to Spock and tucks his arms underneath his granddaughter. Spock reluctantly allows him to take the baby. To his immense relief, the child seems content in her grandfather's arms as well.

"I have noticed," Sarek says and then stops. Spock looks at his father and Sarek contemplates his next words for a moment before continuing, "I have noticed that you have not visited Nyota in the hospital in the past three days."

Spock feels his eyes contract slightly into a glare but he quickly reverts his expression to a more neutral mien. Few people call his wife by her first name. That his father is now one of them is a interesting fact indeed, "I have not."

"What is the reasoning behind that decision?" Sarek asks abruptly.

"I have a child to care for," Spock retorts, such as swiftly.

"I am fairly confident infants are permitted in the hospital," Sarek says, "and in the event that they were not, you have multiple caretakers available."

"I wish to be her caretaker," Spock says, "And I do not wish to expose her to a highly pathogenic environment."

"Spock," Sarek says, "What is the reasoning behind your treatment of Nyota?"

"We are currently discontent with one another," Spock says. He purses his lips, silently signaling to his father that he will not discuss the matter further without protest.

Sarek sighs and Spock braces himself for what he is certain will be unwanted and unneeded advice.

"I understand that when you were younger, you felt the need to closely guard your countenance, lest someone misinterpret your demeanor as human weakness. I recall encouraging you to conceal yourself. We both assumed this was the best manner in which to proceed at it seemed to guarantee not only that you would survive, but thrive in diverse environments. However," Sarek says, "that time has passed. They will require more."

Spock does not respond for several minutes. While others would take this as a sign of rejection, it emboldens Sarek. "Perhaps tomorrow," Sarek says, "you could take her to the hospital so that Nyota may interact with her."

Spock glances at his daughter's hand which is wrapped around her grandfather's thumb, "Yes. I believe I could."

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_On the day that you -_

_No (I cannot say the words)_

_I lingered,_

_certain the sun would cease to rise,_

_accepting that air would fail me,_

_undoubting that life would fail to sustain_

_and I would remain forever in the space alone_

_But, once more, no_

_I call for you and the emptiness consumes_

Spock ceases his poetry rendition. The piece is of Orion origins and the next segment is incredibly pornographic. Additionally, they have arrived at the hospital and he no longer need distract the child secured in a safety seat in the back of the car.

He puts the girl in a sling which he then affixes to his chest. Both enjoy the close proximity but Spock cannot bring himself to even notice now. His child is not of the same disposition. By the time they are outside her mother's room, inexplicably considering she slumbered approximately 136 minutes the night before, she is asleep.

Spock moves her so that her neck is at a less startling angle. Then he pretends it is necessary to adjust the straps on his sling. His daughter whimpers slightly and he is just about to convince himself it is pertinent that he find a bathroom to change her diaper, should the need arise, when the door to his wife's room opens.

"Oh!" Nyota almost bumps into him. She is leaning on a pair of crutches and the sudden stop almost knocks her over, Spock grabs her arm and steadies her.

They stare at one another until Nyota finds her thoughts and begins to move backwards to sit on her bed. Spock hands Nyota a bottle of hand sanitizer and occupies himself with removing their daughter from the sling. Nyota cleans her hands with a half-smile, watching his every move until she can take the child. When she is finally able to hold the baby, she grips her baby's tiny body tightly against her chest, with a wavering sigh. Spock takes a container of sanitizing wipes from his bag and begins cleaning surfaces in the room. He also sprays aerosolized disinfectant where he cannot clean properly. When he is satisfied, he discovers that Nyota has been watching him the entire time.

"Are you injured?" Spock asks, motioning towards the crutches.

"No," Nyota says, burying her face in the infant's crown, the baby's hair muffling her words, "My dad left to get some rest and I needed a break from walking," Nyota inhales deeply, "She smells so good doesn't she?"

"I assisted your mother in bathing her this morning," Spock says, "She enjoyed it immensely."

"I wish I could have been there," Nyota says, "When I'm here all alone, I fantasize about nighttime feedings and diaper changes."

"I will gladly transfer said duties to you as soon as it is feasible," Spock says. Nyota grins, meeting this gaze. For a moment, everything is easy. Then she feels her eyes shift just a little. There is a change in his expression in response and she knows that even though she is still smiling, he can tell her facade is not sincere.

She wants to tell him that she is sorry. She wants to comfort him, tell him the things he would have to do to drive her away would be earth shattering and completely impossible for him. She wants to know if he is alright, if he's been eating and sleeping, if her family has been good to him, if the baby is overwhelming him. She wants to be close to him. She wants to know if he is having the same thoughts as he right now.

The minute he had left three days ago, she had asked her father to run to the store to get her toothpaste. She hadn't need any; she had a half full container and an unused tube which Makena had left behind. Her father was someone she could discuss politics and football with. He was not someone she wanted to be around when her eyes were stinging and her throat was a little too tight.

When she was alone, she had remembered a moment back on the Enterprise. She was pregnant with the triplets and becoming painfully hopeful but he was terrified and she could feel the icy tendrils of fear through their bond. Neither wanted to speak on her condition, as if talking about it would make it disappear. But that day, as they rode the turbolift, she on her way to medbay and him on his way to the bridge, surrounded by over a dozen crew members, he had suddenly pulled her close. So close, in fact, she had had to adjust her arm so her elbow wouldn't jab his side.

She had been surprised but intrigued, staring at the back of an Ensign's head, waiting for his next move. For a moment, he was still, one hand clutching the fabric over her hip. Then, timidly, he had released her dress, his fingers sliding across the soft fabric until his long arm was around her back, over her hip and he could touch her navel. Finally she turned and looked at him. His eyes were closed, his breathing soft and comfortable, as he let his fingers splay. She should have seen something, if not everything, in his face that day.

But she hadn't.

They arrived on her floor and she had pushed her way out of the lift. She couldn't be certain but she could swear she'd felt a tug on her hair as if his finger had caught in her ponytail. Later when she was alone in McCoy's office, the doctor off yelling at some engineer, she had looked at herself in the mirror Leonard had put up to cover his window so he wouldn't see the passing space. She pressed her dress flat over her stomach and, to her own wonder, she could see and feel the beginning of something and it had seemed like someone was trying to squeeze the life out of her heart.

Now, Nyota turns, ready to apologize even if that means hiding her pain once more for his sake when Spock comes to sit in a chair near the bed.

"How long have you been hiding this from me?"

This is a surprising question. She would have thought the reasoning behind her choice would be obvious to someone like him, someone with very specific experience in similar matters involving pain and silence.

She touches her lips because it's something to do. Her fingers are shaking and she puts them down. She had been a mess both times, at first, before slowly moving towards some semblance of normalcy. But it was always a hollow healing. She was better only in that she could hide it and pull her life back in its regular orbit. The memories were never far and if she were honest, they could have consumed her if she let them, even now, very easily.

"Always," she finally admits, "I'm always a little sad about it."

He takes several seconds to respond. After a few moments pass, she begins to realize that is because he is listening, truly listening, contemplating on her words before responding.

"The morning of the incident with General I'sh'tae, I awoke in the middle of the night, disoriented. I could find no organic cause for my condition. I was preparing to go to the medical bay when I became aware that the cause of my affliction was interpersonal. At first my diagnosis was a theory but information received later was a confirmation. You were entering the twelfth week of your first gestation and I was experiencing a mental connection with our unborn child."

"You've never told me that before," Nyota says when she finds her voice.

"I considered informing you of your condition but you were preparing for a conference with the General and I did not want to further distress you. I informed Dr. McCoy you would require a physical immediately after we returned and made my own assessments of the fetus' health through the bond. I found myself marveling at the fact that she could have survived so long without intervention, particularly as, so far as I could ascertain, she was incredibly healthy."

It was supposed to be a peaceful meeting. He couldn't have known. Neither could she.

"Additionally, Spock continues, "I found that I enjoyed the simplicity of the concept. Your awareness of your pregnancy would have necessitated that we discuss difficult alteration that would have had to be made to our careers, home, and lives. Without your knowledge, I could consider meaningless ideas such as what phenotypes she would inherit and what interest I would share with her. I would have requested we name her Amanda."

"I'm sorry," Nyota says but he interrupts her before she can continue.

"Jim remained with me while you were being operated on. At one point, when I admitted to being afraid for your life, he embraced me, infiltrating my mind with his thoughts. Thus, when she passed, the sensation was dulled in comparison to the one I felt when my planet was destroyed."

"I-" She tries but he interrupts her again.

"I experienced similar circumstances with Suhayl."

She does not attempt to speak again. There are tears flowing down her cheeks and they are words enough.

"Please do not assume that your feelings towards our present situation are contradictory to my own."

"I'm sorry," Nyota blubbers, her voice shaking so hard she is almost illegible, "I'm sorry if I've made you feel like you haven't supported me because you have. I'm sorry if I made you feel like you were lacking. I'm sorry I was feeling things and I couldn't articulate them so I took them out on you because it was easy and you were there. You are," she pauses as her voice cracks, "I don't even have the words to describe what you mean to me."

Their daughter awakens, crying in hunger. Spock takes her off Nyota's chest and feeds her. Nyota tries to compose herself but her tears are uncontrollable. She lets them run their course until her eyes dry. Spock moves to a corner, rocking their child, facing away from her.

"Spock," Nyota says. When he doesn't turn towards her, she repeats his name but he still doesn't look at her. She pushes herself to her feet, stumbles towards him, and grabs a handful of his shirt, pulling him towards her. Finally, he turns, his eyes on her collarbone. Nyota holds out her hand, "Let's put it in the past. Neither of us need to be alone with this anymore."

Her does not move for so long she is certain her is rejecting her. Finally, he goes to lay their baby down in the bassinet which Nyota didn't have the heart to remove from the room. Her legs are shaking from the burst of effort and Nyota quickly retreats to sit on her bed, still reaching for him. Then, he comes around, watching her outstretched hand for a moment. It takes what seems like decades but finally he takes it. After a second, he brings his hand to her face and she press against his fingers so their minds are joined and they proceed to share good memories, bad memories, unspoken memories, everything.

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"Wow," Kamau set down his fork, groaning, one hand on his stomach as if he had eaten an entire banquet instead of a few minuscule bites of his lunch. He pushes the plate towards Spock, "Why don't you finish that for me, huh?"

"I informed you previously that a second lunch would leave you feeling distended."

"Yeah. You know. Eyes bigger than stomach," Kamau pushed the plate until it touched Spock's forearm on the table, "It's getting cold."

"I also noticed that you ate 84.7 minutes ago when we were in the company of your family and you acknowledged your mother when she commented on my lack of desire to partake."

"Did I?" Kamau squints his eyes as if he is contemplating what Spock is saying, "Don't remember. Nyota told me this was your favorite."

"I was in the room when your mother commanded you to 'watch over me.' I accept this gesture, in spite of its condescending nature. However, it is unnecessary for you to force feed me.

Kamau scratches his neck, "Fine. But if she asks, you ate the whole thing."

Spock and Kamau clear their cafeteria table and make their way back to Nyota's room. When they arrive, Nyota has adjusted the bed so that it is flat and is bench pressing a thick book on the phenomena of New Vulcan dialects. Makena talking on the phone in a corner, her niece resting against her knees, watching her sister with incredulous eyes.

"Did the doctor say that was okay for you to do?" Kamau asks.

"He said light exercise was fine," Nyota says, a line of sweat forming on her brow.

"So weird," Makena whispers. She perks up a second later and says into her phone with an even tone, "Hello Commander Ellis. I've been reviewing our records and I notice there are still no payments on your account. Understandably I'm rather angry and I have decided to increase our fee from 1.2 to 1.5 to supplement our losses, which I am sure you will find reasonable. If you'd like to know how I'll respond to this situation when I'm furious, I suggest you continue ignoring my calls and forgoing payment. Thank you," Makena sighs as she hangs up the phone, "Can we go now? The doctor discharged you like an hour ago."

Nyota's arms are shaking as she pushes the book into the air, "Just three more."

She manages two more reps. On the third, she becomes pinned by the massive book and, after some protest, requires Spock's assistance in removing the text. She lays, panting on the bed for a moment, "I just want to be normal again."

"You will be," Dr. M'Benga says. The foursome turn at the sound of the doctor's voice. He looks exhausted but is smiling, as he pulls a bassinet into the room. Inside is their son, fast asleep, "I'm glad I caught you. I have some very good news. You can take him home. Today, if you like."

The doctor has forms for them to sign but they lay unattended on a table as they crowd around to look. The baby boy's hair is thick and curly. He has the triangular face like his mother and sister, with the same nose, mouth, and chin but to Nyota's delight, he shares one obvious feature with his father.

"He had your eyes," Nyota says, "The shape, the color."

"He does," Kamau says in agreement.

Makena lays the boy's sister next to him, and they watch as the baby girl turns on her side towards her brother, her hand stroking his arm with a touch that is almost reverent.

"When can the littlest one come home?" Nyota asks.

"Kitten's coming around," Dr. M'Benga says, "We had a little scare with a fever but she's breathing on her own and I think if we have a few more days of observation I can convince my partners she's ready to go." The doctor looks down at the infants one last time before he excuses himself.

"Who the hell is Kitten?" Makena asks when he's gone.

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"Thanks for staying up with me," Nyota says, "Spock was exhausted."

"You're welcome," Kamau says, yawning. They are leaning, back to back, on the couch in the sitting room and he turns his neck to rest his head on her shoulder, "It's just like being a resident again."

"Is she finished?" Nyota asks.

Kamau huffs, "She's been finished for a while. Is he finished?"

Nyota pokes the side of her son's mouth with the bottle but he is deeply asleep, "Nope. I mean this in the nicest way possible but is he normal? I mean I know babies sleep a lot but he wouldn't even wake up to eat."

"He's fine. I asked dad and he agrees," Kamau says, "Don't worry. You only think that because she never sleeps. They're perfect, I promise."

"I couldn't agree more," Nyota says, leaning down to kiss her son's cheek. He smiles in his sleep and being up so late is a little less painful.

"Let's go back to bed," Kamau stands up, balancing his niece on his shoulder with one arm, helping Nyota to her feet. They are moving slowly towards their respective rooms when Makena comes creeping down the stairs, bag in hand.

"How can you live your life out of one bag?" Nyota asks. Makena only has one piece of luggage and its contents have sustained her for weeks on New Vulcan.

"It's the only way to be truly free," Makena responds. She pouts when she sees her niece and nephew, moving quickly to kiss them each in turn, "They're going to be so big the next time I see them."

"When are we going to be together again?" Kamau asks.

"September?" Nyota tries, "For mom's birthday?"

"I have a contract during that time," Makena says, "New Years?"

"I can't get leave that time," Nyota says.

"Maybe their first birthday?" Kamau says, "But that's midterms for me so. . ."

They go silent. Then, in unison, they comes together to embrace.

"I'm going to miss you much," Kamau says.

"I love you both," Makena adds.

"I don't know where I'd be right now if you two hadn't come," Nyota says.

Kamau leans back, one arm around Makena, the other holding his niece, "You're not leaving because of what he said right? It was totally wrong. I think even he realizes that. It's just, neither of you have ever been able to let anything go and he's got those issue with his dad leaving when he was young and he hates hearing you or any of us talk about going away."

Makena's jaw tightens, "I'm too old to care what he thinks. I've outgrown his opinion. I'm going to finish this deal I promised I'd finish."

Her siblings look at one another. Nyota says, "Sure."

Kamau and Nyota put the babies down and join Makena on the porch, "When are they coming for you?"

"5:15," Makena replies. She sit down in one of the porch chairs and Nyota comes to perch on the armrest. Makena is wearing a jacket with the word "Mankour" on the back and Nyota knows this is an acronym, an old, last-ditched effort by Makena to gain acceptance which was too difficult to change after a while, which stands for M'Umbha, Alhamisi, Nyota, Kamau and Olivier, Urie, and Raleigh. For the Uhura and for Makena's partner's family. The word pulls a questions out of Nyota's sleep deprived mind.

"Have you picked a name?" Almost a year ago, Nyota and Spock had agreed that Spock would name their daughters and Nyota would name their sons. But after all Makena had done, Spock had conceded that Makena should get the honor of naming their oldest daughter.

"Yes," Makena says, looking away from her phone for a minute to smile at Nyota, "I still like Dasia."

"I'm not naming my daughter after a currency," Nyota says.

"The highest trading currency in the universe," Makena says, looking slightly affronted, "The one I'm going to be paid with some time in the next eighteen hours that I plan to put towards their college fund."

Nyota gives her a look.

"I also like Nia."

"You just made that up. It's a shorter version of my name," Nyota says, regretting this choice more and more.

A hovercraft pulls up in front of the house. Makena looks at it, sadly, before leaning down to hug Nyota, "Call, if you ever need me."

"I need you to give me a name," Nyota says, "Pick one."

The hovercraft beeps it horn and Makena yells across the lawn, "Stop honking the damn horn Perris. You'll wake up the neighbors and they already hate us."

The driver beeps the horn again, longer this time.

"I think we're off schedule," Makena says, rushes towards it, "Give Mama another kiss for me."

"Makena!" Nyota yells, "You agreed to this!"

"Bye Kamau Kay," Makena calls.

"Bye Muhmuh Makena," Kamau says.

Makena has opened the front seat and is about to jump in when Nyota adds, "I guess you just don't keep your promises."

Makena pauses, glaring at her. Then she yells out a name.

Nyota ponders it for a moment before nodding.

Nyota and Kamau stand on the porch for several minutes to wave until their sister is out of sight.

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"Patient is a forty-three days old female of Vulcan-human hybridity. Mother is a thirty-eight year old human Senior Communication Officer for Starfleet from the United States of Africa. Father is a forty-one year old scientist and a First Officer on the same ship from ShiKahr with a human mother and a Vulcan father. Prenatal cardiovascular scans indicated gradual heart failure common in Rh sensitization in humans. Patient was born after 264 days gestation along with two fraternal triplet siblings who were in good health - Stop it!" The baby in his arms jerked in surprise at the sudden change in his voice. Dr. M'Benga put down his microphone and pulled her hands away from the nasogastric feeding tube she was attempting to pull out, "One more minute, Kitten and we'll get rid of it for good, I promise."

"Dr. M'Benga? Could you please explain that last part?"

Dr. M'Benga struggled to not roll his eyes at his Vulcan colleagues who are observing in the next room, "I was just talking to her. It's not relevant to the study."

Thankfully, Dr. M'Benga is not the only human at the medical center and they don't remind him that the infant does not have the cognitive abilities to comprehend speech let alone respond yet, nor do they comment on the nickname he has given the child. Instead they let him describe the thoracic x-ray he had taken and will include in the packet that will be submitted to the Vulcan Science Academy where with any luck, the unique patient case study will be published.

Dr. M'Benga gives his colleagues several minutes to finish their notes. His heart is pounding for what is coming next. He looks down at Kitten and feels better immediately. The baby stares at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. She looks, for lack of a better term, adorably bewildered.

They're are close, the two of them. He often comes to see her, his heart aching at the thought of her all alone here. They're been transiting her from the feeding tube to the bottle and she had spit up on every staff member but Dr. M'Benga. He takes this as a high honor.

"You're a work of art, Kitten," Dr. M'Benga's voice is strained and high pitched. He really adores babies and he's been around so few since they are precious resources in the aftermath of the destruction of Vulcan, "No, really. I mean it. I never understood how anyone could dedicated their lives to anything other than the most perfect machine. You are excellently created in every way to take on this world. Every single cell in your body wants you to live and thrive. You're a miracle," Finally, a nurse arrives with a bottle of formula, "Let's remind them of that fact, huh?"

Palms wet, Dr. M'Benga presses the tip to the side of her lips. She opens her mouth but does not seem to remember what to do next. The nurse is nearby but Dr. M'Benga can't bring himself to care. He touches her palm, sending her mental images of what she should do with the bottle in order to eat. Unfortunately, his signals are unclear and he feels her gnawing unproductively on the nipple.

"You did it before, come on." Desperate, he puts his finger in his mouth and sucks on it, to better stimulate the exact action he wants her to utilize.

The nurse stares at him, obviously concerned for his mental health, but it works. Kitten begins nursing and eventually finishes the bottle. The nurse takes the bottle. When her back is turned Dr. M'Benga, scolds the baby softly, "You just wanted me to make an ass of myself, huh?" Then he gives the baby a kiss on the forehead, "Good job."

The door to the isolation unit open and his colleague Dr. Tarij enters, handing him some paperwork, "I agree with your prognosis. No breathing tube, no feeding tube, no need for extra machines anymore. She can be care for by non-medical professionals. Send her home."

Dr. M'Benga pages Spock and Nyota. He stays with Kitten for a few more minutes, savoring his last visit with one of his favorite patient. As expected though, the visit is not long.

"You first," Nyota says when she and her husband had been admitted into the special room. Spock needs little provocation. The look he gives to his daughter as he hold her in his arms for the first time makes Dr. M'Benga feel a little better about saying his own goodbye.

"She had your eyes," Spock says.

"And your ears," Nyota adds, hugging him from behind, "and your eyebrows. She takes after you."

It is true. Unlike her siblings, Kitten had olive hued skin, pointed ears, and absolutely no hair except for a thin line over her eyes.

Dr. M'Benga watches proudly. Then, realizing he is interrupting a family moment, he steps out, obscenely happy.

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"This is for you," Alhamisi says, handing Spock a package, unceremoniously, "M'Umbha made me wrap it. It's a video camera."

"Thank you," Spock says as he peels away the paper. He thinks of something and adds, "If this is another deed done for the purposes of personal mirth, please be aware that yesterday, Kamau maneuvered my father into giving him thirty-eight credits under the guise that it was an African tradition. When M'Umbha discovered this contrivance, she proceeded to - "

"It's not a practical joke," Alhamisi says, reaching for his coffee cup, "When the kids were little, I was always having to work but M'Umbha was still in school when they were young and her career always allowed her to spend more time with them so," he takes a sip, waving his hand around," she used to makes videos for me so I could see them walking for the first time or playing in school concerts. I thought since you and Nyota will be going back to work soon, you might like to do the same for each other."

Alhamisi pulls the camera over to himself and begins to show him how to use it. He left several old videos on the memory file for Nyota and eventually, after Spock learns how to record, send, and edit, they watch some together.

The files are not in chronological order. Spock sees his wife as an infant sleeping on her mother's chest, then as a beaming teenager graduating from high school and later, a child climbing trees. In one particularly interesting piece, he sees his wife, eleven and bossy, with Kamau, who's six or so, arguing over who should help their year old sister with her first steps. In the end, neither of them support Makena and she falls to the ground between her squabbling siblings.

Seeing his youngest daughter makes Alhamisi's eyes sad. Five days prior, they held a baptism for the triplets and, wanting to know why she had been tasked with naming the oldest child, he had been told the story of how Makena brought the heart that saved his youngest grandchild, a tale he was unaware of. Since then, he had been sneaking off to call Makena. But Alhamisi is grumpy and quiet after these calls and it is obvious she doesn't responded.

"We are not so different you and I," Alhamisi says, "We both have three good children, right?"

"What did he say," M'Umbha asks several seconds later when Alhamisi is off getting another cup of coffee. When Spock tells her, she sighs, "That old fool."

"Let's make a video for them," Kamau says when he sees the camera. So they do. The Uhuras takes turns giving advice. Some words of wisdom are good: "Identity is complicated", "Empathy must be cultivated", "Pursue life with both hands." Some advice is questionable: "Never trust anyone who likes Iberian whiskey", "Medicine is the best profession."

But the words which stand out the most come from Sarek, who glances at Alhamisi before he speaks and then stares directly at Spock and Nyota thereafter to indicate these words are more for them than for the children, "Understand and accept those around you for who they are and not for whom you have come to expect them to be. Seek first to understand."

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Eventually, the Uhuras leave. There is school to attend to and work to be conducted. They leave in a storm of hug, kisses, and tears and leave behind silence, which both Spock and Nyota relax in. Sarek assists them but for the most part, they relish the quiet time and the knowledge that all three of their children are with them.

"That's nice," Nyota says, biting her cheek as Sarek finishes a song on his ka'athyra on evening. He raises an eyebrow at her in response and she smiles, "I mean, you had nice finger positioning."

"I believe I inherited my musical abilities from Mother," Spock says and Nyota laughs.

Sarek hands Spock the ka'athyra and he begins playing a sad song about a woman mourning the loss of her beloved friend. Nyota glances at the triplets who, in a rare moment indeed, are all sleeping on a nearby mat with Zorat curled around them like a mother cat with her kittens. Seeing that they are still content, she stretches and lays her head down next to Spock on the couch where they are sitting. Outside the window, the sun is dropping on the horizon.

Spock skillfully teases out the last notes in the piece. Nyota says, "Can you play something happy now?"

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A/N

I blame Black Sails for the delay in the writing of this.

But in any event, as an olive branch of sorts, if anyone can guess the name of Nyota and Spock's son, I will send them the next chapter right now. It's from the comic books. If you can't, it's coming on Friday. They're going back to the Enterprise!

Also, today is my birthday so if you have any particularly stinging comments on this, I hope you will wait until tomorrow to share them.

PS: Don't watch Black Sails. I'm trapped but you don't have to be.


	14. Chapter 14

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XIV

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"Jim," McCoy says, more urgently than before, "They've spent the last three months caring for three infants 24/7. The last thing they want is you bursting into their hotel room, unannounced -"

Kirk stares down the doctor, makes an exaggerated display of knocking thrice on the door before pushing his way in despite there being no answer from the inside. "Hello?" Kirk says, poking his head in through the hotel room door, "Can we come in?"

"Wait for a response at least Jim," McCoy snaps, following Kirk so closely he steps on the Captain's shoes.

Kirk flicks on the light, "Everybody decent? Everyone is waiting for you downstairs. Did you forget the welcome back party?"

"The bedroom door is closed, Jim," McCoy says, pointing, "They're asleep. Let's - "

That's when both men notice the noises coming from the crib across the room. McCoy grabs for the Captain a second too late. Jim is already halfway across the room.

"Hey guys," Jim says, grinning hard at the baby girl and the baby boy inside. The pair are facing one another, making noises to each other but when Jim interrupts their conversation, they turn to look at him, "I know you two. Your daddy sent me pictures and videos. I'm your Uncle Jim." Kirk reaches down to pinch the girl's chubby cheek.

"Look at her, glaring at you," Leonard says, leaning over Jim's shoulder, gesturing towards the baby girl's narrowed eyes, "I already like her." McCoy bites his cheek hard to hid the fact that he find them both obscenely cute. Damn it. "I'll be you fifty credits. She's gonna want you to call her just Uhura. Family tradition."

"No. She loves me," Kirk says, leaning closer. He pauses and from the look on his face, McCoy is certain the Captain is formulating a stupid idea, "I'm wanna hold one."

"At least ask first, Jim," McCoy say blocking Kirk. The doctor pushes Kirk's hands away, "Or sit down and let me hand you them."

"I'll sit down," Kirk says, hurrying towards the couch.

"And try to remember you're holding a delicate infant," McCoy says, adjusts Kirk's arms. The doctor crosses the room, watching the babies for a moment. The boy seems a little bit less squirmy. He places the infant in Kirk's arms, "Support his head, Jim. And -" McCoy stops. Jim's a natural.

In the crib, as if realizing she is alone, the baby girl begins whining.

"Oh, Bones," Kirk says, looking up from the boy in his arms, "Go get her."

"I'm respectful. I'll wait until Spock and Uhura get here," McCoy says, looking at the crib against his will.

The baby's cries grow in intensity and Kirk makes a pained face, "How can you hear that and -"

"Alright," McCoy snaps. He stomps over to the crib and picks up the baby girl. Her cries slowly fade. She leans back in his arms to look up at him and he stares back, "Just turn it and off, huh?"

He plops down on the couch next to Kirk. "Happy?"

Kirk reaches out, says, "You can give her to me. You know. So you can be respectful."

The baby's hand is wrapped tightly around one of McCoy's fingers, "Just shut up."

Jim begins making annoying sounds and McCoy tries not to follow suit. After several minutes, the door to the bedroom opens and Spock exits, a third infant clad only in a diaper with a prominent scar on her chest in one arm. He sees the doctor and Captain and notes, "I see you have made yourself comfortable."

"You know," McCoy says, gesturing towards the infant in his arms, "Babies make people stupid. And there wasn't much brain power for Jim to lose anyway."

"Hey," Kirk says sheepishly, trying to suppress a smile. Spock is wearing a bright orange shirt with the words 'Chug It' on the front. It's from the bag Kirk packed for him; some of the Jim's things much have mixed in, "I like your shirt."

"I will have it washed and returned to you," Spock says.

"Nah," Kirk says waving a hand, "Keep it. I don't even want to know what that stain on it is."

Spock's eyes fall on Dr. McCoy. Leonard is making a big show of testing his baby's reflexes, "I'm here to do medical clearances," he assures Spock, "Have you been doing those exercises I suggested? The ones where you lay them on their stomach so they can build up their back and neck muscles?"

"Nyota refers to them as 'tummy time,'" Spock says nodding, "I spent an hour earlier doing the activities you suggested with them."

"She's got great head control so I believe you. Soon, they'll be crawling and running and breaking everything. Nice work." McCoy says, "You're late to your own party, you know."

"I apologize. The children were cranky on the shuttle. Nyota was exhausted from our travels and suggested a nap. We have overslept."

"Go back to bed then," the Captain says. Kirk groans, settling his baby on his chest, nuzzling the infant's soft hair, inhaling the sweet smell, then nodding as if the actions have affirmed something, "Yeah. You are never getting him back. I'm in love." He holds out a hand, "Want me to hold her too so you can get dressed?"

"You may hold her temporarily," Spock says, "I must awaken Nyota."

"Oh, I could eat you," Kirk squeals as Spock comes closer and the third baby is more visible. This makes Spock raise his eyebrows in distress, "I'm kidding. I'm not a cannibal."

"I'll watch him," McCoy says. Spock hands the doctor his child, watching his Captain and Leonard for several second before vanishing into the bedroom.

"Come on," Kirk says when Spock is gone, "Let's steal them."

"How about some pictures instead?" McCoy says.

Kirk's eyes light up, "Hell yeah."

That turns out to be a mistake. Kirk wants every combination of pictures taken: one with him and the girls, one with him and the boy, one with him and all three, one with him and each one individually. By the time McCoy is done, Nyota has arrived, in a slightly wrinkled uniform with bags under her eyes, but smiling.

"Thank the almighty you're here. Make him stop."

Nyota takes the camera and snaps a picture of McCoy and Kirk and her babies on the couch. She looks at the picture in the preview screen and smiles, "Gonna have to frame that one."

"How are you doing?" McCoy asks.

"I feel asleep standing up yesterday," Uhura says, looking up from the screen, "And I was so exhausted last week I think I may have asked Spock to give them to a pack of wolves. But you have to ask him. I honestly can't remember."

"Sounds about right," McCoy says, nodding.

"I love it though. And I love them. The other night, he cooed at me for the first time and my heart just melted. It was like he knew I was his mother. Then she began smiling right after, like she had to outdo him," Uhura adds, laughing.

"May they always be fighting for your love," McCoy says.

"Daddy's little saboteur," Kirk says, smiling at one of the girls who instantly smiles back.

"Let's go," Uhura says, "I'm sure the crew is waiting for their guests of honor."

Spock has a ridiculous front and back, double baby carrier that Kirk insists on wearing. Making faces at the babies, he describes the new schedule that Spock and Nyota will have when they return to the Enterprise at the end of the crew's current shore leave.

"We're gonna do everything we can to keep you with us. Spock will be working Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays, and Nyota will be working Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays but you both get two Sundays off a month and don't worry, I've taken the liberty of changing my schedule so that I have every Sunday off. You know. Just in case."

"How generous for you," Nyota says.

"I'm giving you the twelve hour shifts though, instead of the sixteen hour ones," Kirk says. "I am nice."

It is a good schedule though.

"And he missed you so much he decided to occupy himself by remodeling your room," McCoy adds, a bit gleefully, "I mean there's no plumbing right now and I think you'll find there's more metal shards on the floor than you'd like but he says it's going to be bigger when it's done. Hope you like dust."

"I was going to wait until it was done - and it will be done by the time our leave is over - so you wouldn't be mad," Kirk says, when he sees Uhura and Spock's expressions, "But yeah, that happened too. It's not as bad as it sound, I swear."

"It is," McCoy says.

"It's fine," Uhura says, "We'll just stay with you until it's finished, Captain. And don't worry. You get used to 45 minutes of sleep every night."

"I will finish it," Kirk says, more to himself than them.

For the party, Kirk rented a large hall in the hotel where they are staying. When they enter, the entire crew goes silent and turns towards them. Then, everyone rushes forward at once. The babies disperse through the room.

"Absolutely beautiful," Chekov says about their son, as Sulu hangs over his shoulder.

"So cute," Carol says with Christine nodding happily.

"Look at those cheeks," Charlene squeals as Scotty cradles one of their daughters.

"What are their names again?"

"No, no, no," Kirk says before Nyota can respond. He grabs a chair and quiets the room, "I've - I mean we've been waiting so long for them. I'm going to make a real announcement. For our new crew members."

Nyota smiles at her Captain, "The one in the blue, he's the middle child. Raheem Grayson Uhura of the S'chn T'gai clan."

"You're gonna make me cry," Kirk says, before he raising his voice to announce the name.

"The female infant dressed in the green suit is our first born child," Spock says. After a moment of hesitation, he adds, "Her name is Jamila Pike Uhura of the S'chn T'gai clan."

Kirk's eyes drop for a second, presumably in memory of he and Spock's shared mentor, but then he smirks, "Oh really? Doesn't sound familiar at all. What a shameless effort to curry favor."

"I informed you previously that this would happen, did I not?" Spock says, in a low tone to Uhura.

"My sister picked Jamila," Uhura says, ignoring her husband, "She doesn't even know you."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure," Kirk says. He raises his voice to tell the crew, "We're going to have to give her a nickname to avoid confusion. Jaybird. J-Baby," He grins, "Maybe Jamie. That one's cute. We'll have a vote later."

"It is pronounced Jamila, Captain," Spock says.

"Of course. And the last one, baby in the flattering purple?"

"T'Lor McCoy Uhura of the S'chn T'gai clan," Nyota says.

McCoy who had been glaring at the couple since Jamila's name was announced looks up. Nyota slides closer to him, whispering so that only he can hear, "She might not be here if you hadn't sent me to New Vulcan."

McCoy's glare deepens but he leans over and kisses her on the cheek.

"You give me time. You give me time and one of them will have a Kirk in their name," The Captain says, wincing when he hears what he has said.

The party continues on, everyone wanting to grab the new parents to talk and congratulate them.

At one point, all three babies begin crying at once. Before Nyota can even feel her blood pressure rising or Spock can begin formulating the best tactical approach, Chekov is offering to change a diaper, Sulu and Scotty begin mixing a bottle, and Carol makes a few faces, and the world rights itself. Remembering the blind panic she had once felt when confronted with the very notion of holding three babies at once, Nyota feels a strange pride.

"I want to call Sarek," Nyota says to Spock, when they have a second together, "I want to tell him we're settled and we're fine."

"He escorted us to the landing dock, received communication of our arrival, and I sent him a notice to reinforce this. He will assume as much." But from the look in his eyes, he has already given in, as he often does with things she does that he did not understand.

"I want to call him," Nyota repeats and this time he nods. And they do later that night. It is the first of many communications.

When they begin walking back to their room, several crew members head follow, visiting with them late into the night. Most, mercifully, leave by midnight.

But not Kirk. He does not recognize (or more likely ignores) their signals for him to go and ends up spending the night on their couch. At one point, when Jamila gets fussy, he calls out, "Don't worry I got it."

"This is the way our lives are now," Nyota says when she feels Spock's flabbergast. She snuggles close to him, "We've arrived."

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A/N

On the names:

Raheem Grayson: In one of the comic, when Nyota is about seven, she and her parents go visit her Uncle Raheem and their shuttle malfunctions. Raheem goes outside to fix the problem but there's an explosion and Uhura's parents fall unconscious. He calls into the shuttle and tells Nyota to pull her parents into an escape pod, encouraging her when it gets difficult because they're heavy, and telling her how proud he is of her. Then we find out, he was blown into space by the explosion and there is no way to save him and he dies when he falls through the atmosphere of a nearby planet. It's one of the first memories Nyota shares with Spock when they're mind meld. I thought the name was something Nyota would cherish because there are good memories with an uncle, whom she probably considers a hero, behind it and Spock knows how much it means to her. Grayson, is from Spock's mother of course. I definitely think they would try to consider what the other person would want.

T'Lor McCoy: I literally just made up the name T'Lor but there is a character in another series, a lady warrior, named Loor whom I adore so I think I may have subconsciously borrowed that name. And at least one name should seem Vulcan. McCoy was chosen because of what he did for Nyota during her pregnancy and also because in my mind, even if they were in the same room for like thirteen seconds in the movies, Bones and Uhura adore each other and . You can't convince me otherwise.

Jamila Pike: I'm not gonna lie, I totally was looking for a name which was similar to James. It's also Arabic (as is the name Raheem) which is a common language in Africa so you could also say it's a cop out. Finally, the word for "family" in Swahili is "Jami" and I thought that was a nice touch since I wanted each name is represent a part of Spock and Uhura's life (Raheem, Africa; Jamila, the Enterprise, and T'Lor, Vulcan) because they come from two world but they create a common space to live in together. Pike is obviously from Admiral Christopher Pike because Spock was supposed to be his first officer and he looked just as devastated as Jim did when Pike died so I have to assume he was Spock's mentor.

PS: Epilogue to come because I can't be the only one with headcanons about Spock and Uhura as parents and 95% of the reason why I wrote this was to indulge those ideas.


	15. Chapter 15

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XV

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“Spock,” Nyota whispers. From where she is kneeling next to the matress, she glances over at their son who is sleeping next to his father in his parent’s bed. Thankfully, the Four Horsemen couldn’t wake Raheem. Nyota touches Spock’s cheek again, slapping softly, “Spock.”

 

He finally opens his eyes. Her poor husband smells like cough syrup and sweat. She feels a slight guilt at waking him but brushes it off. She been on the bridge for the last forty eight hour, negotiating with Starfleet and she deserves a little selfishness. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Nyota says, “I haven’t seen you in almost week and I missed you.”

 

He turns on his side, blinking hard. In a raspy voice, he asks,“You have arrange for a support ship to come to our aid?” 

 

Nyota nods, stroking his hair, “And I gave them a few choice words over that defective insulators they sent us that made the ship break down in the first place. But in true Starfleet fashion, they made it as difficult as possible.”

 

“You are expected to be on the bridge again for your shift in approximately eighteen minutes,” Spock says, his eyes watching hers. 

 

She groans, “I know. I wish I was here with you taking care of the kids.”

 

“I believe that is the strongest indicator of disdain I have ever heard,” Spock says.

 

“It is pretty bad,” Nyota says, chuckling, “Three more weeks and then we’ll be in Africa for their birthdays, though right?” She stands, stretching, “I love you.”

 

He holds out two fingers and she reaches out for him. The warmth of his presence in her mind lingers even after she leave their quarter and heads to her post. 

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“I want the same style Mama gave me for Babu’s birthday. The one with all the braids over my head.” Jamila says, indicating on her scalp where the interlaced hair should go.

 

“I am only capable of making one braid,” Spock replies. 

 

“Father,” T’Lor says. 

 

“Okay but make it sexy,” Jamila says. 

 

“I will do no such thing,” Spock says, “Where did you hear the word, Jamila?”

 

“Father,” T’Lor says again. 

 

“Auntie Suri said it to Mama last night when she called,” Jamila says. She reaches out to grab her tricoder, making the plait Spock had started on her scalp uneven. He combs out the woven hair and makes another attempt. 

 

“Your mother’s conversation are private, Jamila,” Spock says, “particularly those she informs you are meant to be private.”

 

“If she wants them to be private, then she should use a communication line which is more difficult to tap into,” Jamila says. She purses her lips. She must not elaborate further no matter how much she want to brag or Father will change the software in their home. 

 

“Father,” T’Lor says, pulling his sleeve. 

 

“You know the rules in this home, Jamila,” Spock says, “Just because you are capable of doing so does not give you the right to hack into other people’s computers.”

 

“I didn’t hack anything. The program I made did.”

 

Spock finishes Jamila’s braid and allow her to leave the bathroom. He begins pulling T’Lor hair into a bun, a mercifully easy hair style. 

 

“Father?” T’Lor says. 

 

“Yes, T’Lor?” Spock asks. It is quiet in their home and he appreciates this. Earlier, when he was attempting to meditate, Jamila backflipped into a bookshelf and he had achieved no clarity from his session. 

 

“May I be permitted to stay with Lydia as Jamila and Raheem are intending to do this morning?” T’Lor says. 

 

Before he can ask her for elaboration, they hear a massive crash in the next room. Jamila runs back into the room, “Raheem did it.”

 

“Your brother is ill and sleeping in his bed, Jamila,” Spock replies. He is well aware that they are late, a frequent occurrence that he is yet to become accustomed to. He picks up his two daughter and moves to their room. He pulls out the clothing their mother selected for them the night before and instructs them to get dressed before turning his attention to his son, who requires another dose of medicine. Spock pushes away the remaining fragments of the sonic transducer his son was given to entertained himself with which the boy promptly took apart and holds the tiny plastic cup for Raheem to drink from. 

 

“Daddy, why is T’Lor wearing her uniform?” Jamila asks, the article of clothing she is supposed to be dresses herself in at her feet. 

 

“She is accompanying me to the science lab,” Spock says, covering his son’s mouth. Raheem dislikes the taste of his medicine and is prone to spitting it out. Despite his preventive behavior, Spock feels the sticky substance covering his hand. He prepares another dose. 

 

“Can I come too?” Jamila asks. She rushes to get her uniform. Raheem finishes his cold medicine and collapses back on the bed. Spock picks him up. 

 

“You are not permitted in the science lab by orders of the captain, Jamila. I am certain you recall why,” Spock says. They are twenty seven minutes late. Despite the fact that she is still in her pajamas, Spock picks up Jamila as well and begins moving to the door.

 

T’Lor, who had obediently dressed herself, grabs his bag and opens the door for him. 

 

Jamila pounds on his back, stating repeatedly, “It was an accident and I said I was sorry! I want to go! Why can’t I go? I never get to go anywhere!”

 

Fortunately, Nyota’s friend Lydia lives only five doors down from their quarters. Lydia opens the door with her young son Marshall. She takes in the scene before her: the chief science officer with his triplets, his eyes illustrating the severity of his morning hardships. 

 

For a moment, Spock is certain she will not rescind her offer to watch Jamila and Raheem. Instead she smiles, taking Raheem from him and pulling Jamila by the hand into their quarters, “Don’t worry. They’ll be back in school again before you know it.”

 

“I’m going straight to the captain if you leave me here,” Jamila warns. 

 

“Thank you Lydia,” Spock says. Then he picks up T’Lor and head to the science labs, thirty seven minutes late.  

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T’Lor is not often allowed in the science labs. Today was an exception. Dr. Daoud, one of the xenolinguist researchers on board, would be conducting an experiment on telepathic waves and had requested T’Lor assist him by being an experimental subject. 

 

T’Lor had been so proud, she had convince Mother to allow her to wear the small blue uniform Captain Kirk had given her. She knew Raheem and Jamie would never have been allowed to accompany Father to work and as she walked next to him, she held her head high and kept her face blank. Several of the scientist stopped to smile down at her and pinch her cheeks or ruffle her hair, ruining the bun Father had worked so hard on this morning.

 

“I didn’t know you had another one after the twins!” Two of the ensigns say. T’Lor acknowledges this but does not correct them. Many people do not assume she is the sibling of Raheem and Jamila because she is small and takes after Father where they are tall and look similar to Mother. She simply squeezes Father’s hand and nods. 

 

Even Dr. Carol stopped to give her a hug. T’Lor resisted the urge to return the embrace, watching Father to see his reaction. Father nods at her.

 

“She looks more like you every day, Commander,” Dr. Carol said, smoothing T’Lor’s hair, tucking the stray hairs back into their place.   

 

“Yes, we share many familial genotypes,” Father replies and T’Lor feels a wave of pride.

 

Then, she sits down in the chair Father gave her. Dr. Daoud is working with another subject. She crosses her hand in her lap and tucks her head down while Father turns his attention to his computer. Hours past. The tMRI machine Dr. Daoud is using is malfunctioning. She waits patiently for her turns but eventually she can’t resist the urge to look around. 

 

Dr. Carol is doing a vast equation on one of the boards, using velocity equations she taught to T’Lor weeks prior. T’Lor remembers easily. Two ensigns are analyzing soil samples from one of the Class M planets the Enterprise inspected week before. The chemical composition is quite interesting. Dr. Daoud is still fixing the tMRI machine.

 

On the wall, which delights T’Lor so much she has to fight not to smile, is a copy of the study Dr. M’Benga published, on “Baby K.” Months ago, Dr. Carol asked her to autograph it and T’Lor had allowed herself to be convinced.

 

Then, she notices one of the geologists working across the room. 

 

“Father,” T’Lor whispered. It was the first word she had said all day.The only noise she had made was a excited gasp when Spock had let her watch a flight simulation on his computer.

 

Spock is wearing a pair of headphones, the volume so high she can hear the sounds he is listening to. 

 

“Father!” she said again with more urgency, pulling on his sleeve until he turns, pulling off his headphones, “Dr. Henry’s compound is going to be unstable! He used the wrong constant. That substance is going to be exothermic!”

 

Spock glanced at the chemist at the opposite end of the room. Dr. Henry was preforming tests on of novel Orion compound. His board was covered in figures and measurements but they were merely formalities, educated guesses at best. “You are misunderstanding the equation. Dr. Henry is performing preliminary tests. His work will be trial and error but they are not dangerous. Sit down T’Lor or you will knock your chair over.”

 

His daughter sat but her eyes never wavered from Dr. Henry’s work. As the geologist moved to ignite the compound for a flame test, she jumped, anticipating a explosion. One of her feet was anchored in the lab chair. She fell hard, her nose hitting the ground, the chair tipping over with a loud clang. 

 

Several of the scientists turned to look. Spock quickly handed his PADD over to an assistant and went to pick her up. T’Lor was holding back tears, her eyes jerking around as she saw she had an audience. Chin quivering, she buried her face in her father’s neck. Blood from her nose soaked into his shirt but he ignored it, moving towards the medical kit. 

 

T’Lor lifted her head long enough for him to check her and dress her bleeding. Then she returned her face to his neck, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist. 

 

Spock pats her back, “ There is no need for such distress, T’Lor.” 

 

“They all saw me fall,” T’Lor says, her tiny body shaking.

 

In the back of his mind, he can feel her thought buzzing. He pull her hand off his neck, using the contact to enter her mind. Immediately he is aware of emotion so familiar he questioned whether they were in fact his own, back from dormancy. 

 

Recalling a piece of advice from his father, that he should speak to her in words she can understand, he tells her, through their bond, _In nebulas, some materials come together to form stars. That is their fate, what is the universe desires to happen. Other materials are push away to become planets. They are nowhere but where they are meant to be. You may feel distant from them all but that may be what is intended for you. You cannot know your fate, ko-fu._

 

T’Lor leans back in his arms. He knows she does not understand entirely what he said. She has loosened her arms around him, however. He adds, _It is acceptable for you to be sad or embarrassed but do not allow it to hinder you._

 

Behind them, Dr. Henry says, “Thank you for worrying about me T’Lor.” He holds up the beaker he was using for his experiment. There is a thin, pink film around the top but it did not explode, “It’s fine, see?”

 

T’Lor nods. Dr. Carol comes to Spock’s other side, reaching around to pat her on the shoulder, “You did good T’Lor. It’s good to speak up when you think something is wrong. It makes you a good teammate.”

 

“Thank you Dr. Carol,” T’Lor replies. She shrugs in Spock’s arms and he puts her on the ground. She folds her arms behind her, straightens her back, “Are you prepared to perform the test yet, Dr. Daoud?”

 

One day, when he is certain she is capable of objectivity, Spock will teach her the Vulcan way just as he will her brother and sister and it will mean more to her because the logic and stoicism will be a reflection of her own self.

 

Until then, he is pleased with her as she is. 

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“Your heart is talking to me,” Raheem says, his ear pressed to his mother’s abdomen. He mimic the noise he hears, “Pathump Pathump Pathump,” he makes a face, “I don’t know what you’re saying Mommy’s Heart.”

 

Nyota has been reading the same sentence for five minutes. She puts the report down on the table. Kirk told her to spend the afternoon working at home so she could watch Raheem and Jamila and she had tried but even Kirk hadn’t believed she would be productive, “That’s where Baba and T’Lor heart is, Raheem. You’re listening to my liver.”

 

“T’Lor’s heart sounds like this: Pshah Pshah Pshah,” Raheem says. He leans back to kneel over Nyota. “It talks different from the old heart T’Lor had,” he assures his mother. 

 

Nyota smiles, stroking his face. His fever has dropped and he sounds less congested. “Do you feel better?”

 

“I do,” Raheem says, poking around his neck until he finds his carotid artery. He begins counting the beats aloud in French.

 

“No more sneaking in to kiss your sisters goodnight when they’re sick, okay?” Nyota reminds him. 

 

“You got it,” Raheem says. 

 

The door to their quarters opens and Spock and T’Lor enter. Nyota smiles at them, “Hey. Did you get the afternoon off too?”

 

“Kirk informed me that I needed to spend time with the children,” Spock replies. He sits on the empty space at the end of the couch where Raheem and Nyota have been relaxing, “Perhaps we could share a meal and play a board game?”

 

“We should have curry mother,” T’Lor adds, “Casin will alleviate Raheem symptoms.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Nyota says. 

 

“And we can watch baby videos,” Raheem says. 

 

Nyota glances at Spock. He is proud of the mementoes he made for his triplets. Memories are impermanent and recollection is imperfect. Thus it is only logical he captures them in videos. He took dozens in the first days of their lives alone and he still frequently makes them. Thus, when he tells them they are not alone in the universe he will have ample evidence in support of this assertion. Raheem, in particular, loves them. 

 

“Sounds good,” Nyota says. She sits up, “Would you get Jamila, Spock? She’s in her room.”

 

Spock goes to his children’s rooms. He returns quickly, “She is not in her room, Nyota.”

Nyota stand up, rushing to check. She looks under the bed, in the closet, in all of the places her daughter goes when they place hide and seek. “Did she leave again?” Nyota asks, a trace of panic rising in her voice, “How does she do this?”

 

Raheem and T’Lor exchange a glance. Both know about the ventilation shaft in their room. The opening is large enough for them to climb through and is easily accessible if one climbs the post of the queen bed T’Lor and Jamie share. T’Lor often uses it to get tea and fresh fruit when she’s hungry at night and Raheem uses it to visit Schrödinger's, the unfortunately named cat who belongs to an engineer with liberal views on bedtimes. Mama and Baba are not aware of these uses. Jamie, however, is not so cautious. 

 

Nyota rushes to the comm. Jamila likes the Dr. McCoy even if he doesn’t act like he’s fond of her so she calls medbay first. 

 

“I’m prepping for surgery,” McCoy snaps when she calls, “Third damn time this week.” 

 

Next Nyota calls the engine rooms. Scotty laughs for a almost three minutes straight before he tells Nyota, “Get a tracker on that one, ya know?” 

 

Jamila has been forbidden from the bridge, as all the children on the Enterprise are, but Nyota calls there next. 

 

“Kirk here,” the Captain says when she calls. 

 

“Is Jamie there?” Nyota asks. 

 

Kirk hesitates to respond for a second too long, “No, of course not.” 

 

“Spock,” Nyota calls to her husband who is checking their bedroom for their daughter, “She’s on the bridge. With her husband.”

 

Spock had been more than a little horrified when Jamie had first plopped herself into Kirk’s lap and announced she wanted to marry him. Nyota had, of course, explained this statement, at Jamila’s age, was more a gesture of fondness and admiration than anything else. Still, Spock watched her daughter carefully, lest her intentions changed. 

 

He is out the door, several steps in front of his wife. 

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“Did you read that dissertation I gave you?” Kirk asks. 

 

“Yup,” Jamila says, tracing the golden braid on his sleeve. Months ago, she and Raheem wrote a letter to Starfleet requesting that the female uniform be modified. She is currently wearing the fruits of that labor, a golden Starfleet dress uniform with one thin, unofficial braid around the sleeves, an honor Kirk allowed when she graduated from preschool.

 

“Did you understand it?” Kirk asks, taking her hand so she must look at him. 

 

“I axed T’Lor if I didn’t understand any of the words,” Jamila scrunches her face when she hears her own lisp, “I _asked_ T’Lor. I think I got it all.”  

 

“What did you think of it?” Kirk asks. 

 

“Was he your daddy?” Jamila asks, “George Kirk? Mommy said he was.”

 

“He was,” Kirk says. Jamila turns to him, her eyes searching his face. He smiles but she sees through it, leaning into hug him. 

 

“He was brave,” Jamila says, “Right?”

 

“Yeah,” Kirk says, stroking her back, “But you understand why? Why he saved all those people right?”

 

“Mommy said it’s because he knew he was part of something bigger,” Jamila says, “I don’t understand what that means though. Like, was he giant or something?”

 

“No,” Kirk says, trying not to laugh, “You know how one day you’re going to become the captain of a ship -”

 

“I’m gonna graduate the Academy in two years,” Jamila says. Her mother told her to say this and it always makes Jim smile.

“Yeah,” Kirk says, grinning, “After that happens and Raheem is your chief communication officer and T’Lor is your chief science officer or maybe even your first officer?”

 

“I would do what your daddy did for them,” Jamila says, anticipating his question, “If I had to. I’m their big sister.”

 

“Exactly, my dad felt that way about his entire crew. He knew they were all worthwhile,” Kirk says, “It’s like he thought he was their big brother and he did what he had to do.” 

 

“I got it,” Jamila says, tucking her head under his chin, “I’d do it for you too.”

 

“Thanks sweetheart,” Kirk says, “But remember what I always say right? Be smart. If you have only ten seconds before the ship crashes, think for nine and act in one.”

 

“Always,” Jamila says, “Then I’ll be a great Captain like you.”

 

Kirk bits his lip at this. He always finds compliments like that funny. In his mind, he is still a dumb kid with no clue but in Jamie’s eyes, he sees a man with a character worth pursuing. 

 

She, and his brother and sister, like the rest of the crew make all those lonely years almost worthwhile. 

 

Then, because it was only seems right to punctuate this tender moment with some words of wisdom, Kirk adds, "You know Jamie, any task you half ass will always be meaningless." 

 

Kirk tries.

 

Jamie appears to be thinking about what Kirk had said to his delight until she says, "There are no asses on the Enterprise, half or otherwise. Which is unfair. Mommy wouldn't let us have any animals. She says we wouldn't take good care of them. But I would Uncle Jim! I would.Auntie Makena was going to promise she would get us a miniature saber tooth cat but then Mommy unplugged the comm. I would be the best cat owner. Can you talk you her?"

 

The comm next to Kirk beeps, indicating someone is calling. Kirk hits the button,“Kirk here.”

 

“Is Jamie there?” Nyota asks. 

 

Kirk glances at Jamila. He has every intention of responding truthfully. Unfortunately, while Raheem and T’Lor were cute, Jamie is beautiful and - to the misfortune of Spock and Uhura - very much aware of how useful such are trait for people for manipulating people. She shakes her head and he lies. 

 

“No, of course not.”

 

“Spock. She’s on the bridge.”

 

“They’d didn’t give you permission to be down here did they?” Kirk asks.

 

“Not explicit permission,” Jamila says, shrugging.

 

“I should have known,” Kirk says. He had known, or at least strongly suspected. He just hadn’t wanted to send his friend away, “Before they get here though. I know you can easily wear them and  I love attention too but give them a break, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Jamila says. 

 

Spock and Uhura enter the bridge, T’Lor and Raheem in tow, minutes later. 

 

“Hi,” Jamila calls.

 

“She told me you okayed this,” Kirk says, simultaneously

 

“I’m sure she twisted your arm,” Nyota says. She holds out a hand and Jamila - she is smart when she has to be - immediately goes to her. 

 

“You know,” Kirk says, hoping to distract Spock and Uhura, “Their birthdays are coming up. Did we decide where we’re going on vacation yet?” He had invited himself on their family trips for years now. He babysits though, so they tolerate it, “How about Risa?”

 

“Risa is not appropriate for children,” T’Lor says. 

 

“Your parents have been there,” Kirk says. 

 

Jamie grins, “Really?”

 

They have. Spock and Uhura went undercover as tourists once to learn more about an assassination rumor. For their background story, curtesy of Kirk, Spock had been an international sports star, a tall dark, handsome and silent type and Uhura was his giggly girlfriend/groupie who liked to joke about his endurance. 

 

“Yeah,” Kirk says, “You have to to hear that story! So what happened was -”

 

“Mars, spring break, freshmen year,” Uhura says, quickly. 

 

Kirk looks up, “Wait. You know, I forgot that story, sorry.”

 

Uhura smiles at him. He might threaten but he wouldn’t. If he has ammo on her past, she has an arsenal on his. 

 

“Perhaps Yosemite,” Spock suggests. 

 

Nyota shakes her head. Spock likes nature, particularly when its dangerous like when he can climb s mountains, hike volcanos and such, an easy feat for him. Those same activities are difficult for Nyota, who is usually carrying at least one child. 

 

“We’re going to Africa,” Nyota says, “My sister will be visiting my parents and I really want to give my brother who just had a baby that that annoying truck he gave us for them.”

 

“Yeah,” Kirk says, “Nairobi has a museum which holds worlds biggest ball of yarn. Jamie loves cats! It’ll be the best.”

 

“We’ll iron out the details later,” Nyota says, “We have to go,” she begins herding the children off the bridge, “Sarek is going to call later tonight and I want to make sure we’re there when the call comes in.”

 

“Okay,” Kirk says, standing to escort them, “But remember, me and the three are playing baseball tomorrow.”

 

Baseball had been Jim’s idea. “I’ll do all the work but they need some good old fashion hobbies,” he had said. Bless his heart, but he was misguided. The games always proceeded in the same fashion. Raheem would quickly grow bored and would escape to the track or pool. T’Lor, a player who was a dangerous mix of being both unskilled and too small to be effective, would be hurt and closed to tears after only a few minutes. And Jamie, a bad winner and an even worse loser but an excellent thrower of tantrums, would end the game by expressing her discontent with the world by stomping the floor until Jim finally gave up on the whole thing, grabbed the trio and ran. 

 

Kirk has a short memory. 

 

“Sure,” Nyota says. She and Spock have the day off tomorrow and the idea of sleeping late makes her almost delirious with joy. 

 

“It’s a date,” Kirk says. They begin to leave. Spock glances back at him, noticing the emotion on his face. 

 

“You may visit later,” Spock says, suddenly, “If you wish to share a evening meal with us.”

 

Kirk smiles so hard he feels like his face will split, “I’ll be there.”

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“Hello,” Nyota says when her father-in-law appears on the communication screen, “How are you?”

 

“I am well,” Sarek says, “I have news on the alliance being brokered between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. I will share when the children and my son are present.”

 

“Really?” Nyota says. It is good news. She can tell and she is pleased. She raises her voice, “Raheem, T’Lor, Jamila, Spock, Sarek is on the comm.”

 

She waits, every time he calls. He has a question meant only for her, “Are you content, ko-fu?”

 

Nyota thinks about it. She remembers every day but she does not mourn anymore. She thinks but only for a moment before she responds, honestly, “I am content, Sa-mekh.”

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A/N: The end. Thanks for reading! Your support and reviews have been awesome!

 


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